Bedtime stories with Brennan Mulwray
by Lanfear2
Summary: Updated Chapter 13 (final). The aftermath of choices and decisions. Will Emma regret her decision?
1. Chapter 1

BEDTIME STORIES WITH BRENNAN MULWRAY  
  
Chapter 1  
  
Emma twirled her glass round her index finger and thumb, and applied pressure on the stem until she was certain it would break. Hard. She gritted her teeth. He was doing it again. It was his idea to come to the club when she didn't want to. She wasn't much of a club person. Too careful, too introverted, her parents had said, but of course that was before they even knew she had powers. She liked people in twos and threes (or duplets and triplets, as she liked to call them), where she could manage them in carefully packaged sets of emotions over tidy conversations - not like this where the stark frenzy of neon-clad dancers threatened to engulf her like some tribal emphatic orgy.  
  
It was enough to make her go ballistic. And now, to salt her wounds, he had done it again.  
  
'You need to chill out,' he had said before they had ended up in his Camaro, driving to this new warehouse club place that was the rage of Generation Y.  
  
'But I don't really want to go with you,' she complained. 'You always hook up with some floozy and I'm left there at the bar. Alone.'  
  
He laughed. Right in her face. The audacity!  
  
'Emma,' he smiled, his brown eyes smiling with him. 'Do you have any idea how beautiful you are?' He patted her on the head, like she was some puppy dog. How dare he? She clenched her fists 'Men will be swarming to dance with you.' He made a buzzing sound. 'Like bees. They'll be lining up. And you'll be begging me to fend them away.'  
  
'Not that it's ever happened,' she muttered, but felt oddly pleased anyway. And went to get her red jacket, the one that brought out the green in her eyes.  
  
And now here he was, smooching up with some floozy - some blond-haired floozy at that - and leaving her all alone at the bar. Clutching her glass. Making her regret it was coke and not something harder, just because someone had to be responsible enough not to get drunk enough to drive home.  
  
He can't help it, she told herself. He's Brennan Mulwray. He was born that way, and even if he wasn't, somewhere along - between gym exercises and a healthy growth spurt - he got made that way. When he walked into a room, people sat up and noticed. Women and gay men did double takes. Eyes were riveted to him, to that form, that body, that face.  
  
The gods had been kind to Brennan Mulwray. Too kind perhaps, she thought, when they made him.  
  
It wasn't just his imposing height (he dwarfed almost everyone she knew). It wasn't just that body any model and porno star would give his eye teeth (and pecs) for. Or his perfect features, with his warm brown eyes and that slight Latino cast which made him all the more intoxicating (even though he was Irish). Brennan had a charisma that eclipsed most movie stars, and this had absolutely nothing to do with his looks. He had so much wattage he didn't need to be an electrical mutant to make it obvious.  
  
She wondered how he had ever made it as a career criminal. He was way too conspicuous.  
  
And it wasn't as if he was overtly vain. If he was aware people were staring at him, he shrugged it off in a 'they've been staring all my life, it's no big deal' attitude. Like now. Just slow dancing with the floozy Emma made a mental note not to call women that next time, this was the last exception, other women around him were turning their heads. Looking. Just like she was. She shook herself. It wasn't as though she was attracted to him or anything, she knew him TOO well for that, but he was nice eye candy. Besides, he was a little too old for her, and he was definitely a pain. Most of the time.  
  
Pain didn't even begin to describe him. He teased her mercilessly, and more recently, he had this super macho complex that was overprotective and overbearing, to say the least. He could be terribly condescending and he certainly had chauvinistic tendencies. He even ratted on her once. But she forgave him, because time and again, he always came through for her. She couldn't count how many times he had saved her life. Just like she had saved his. When you had gone through war together, you could get real forgiving.  
  
And besides, he had the hots for Shalimar.  
  
Their relationship was plain...weird, come to think of it. It was so obvious they liked each other more than the usual war bond/team mate friendship. She didn't have to be an empath to see that. But she wasn't sure if it was mere lust. After all, they were two volatile, impassioned and very attractive people. Lust could do that to people. Made them rage full of hormones, like they were on permanent PMT, until they thought they were in love. But they really weren't. It would all be sizzling sex between Bren and Shal - hot, sensuous and wetly dripping with pages found in erotic novels - they would have a big fight after 6 weeks over attitude issues, and it would all be over.  
  
Maybe they knew that. And they didn't want to risk it. They had a great friendship thing going on that was too huge to be risked.  
  
She had once asked Shalimar about him. Shal had turned real defensive. Didn't want to talk about it, which was unlike her. She didn't need to read Shal to know there was a lot of hurt involved, hurt in the way that could only hurt so much you couldn't talk about it. Emma wasn't surprised. Bren and Shal both broke hearts, even if they didn't mean to; it was only apt they broke each other's.  
  
And they both totally saw other people. Brennan worse than Shalimar. At least Shalimar was selective, even though sometimes she acted like a cat in heat. And at least she didn't get physical in her very brief relationships. Brennan had no such barriers. In fact, he was getting worse. Like he was drowning his hurt in one night stands that didn't mean anything to him other than convenient sex. Then when either one of them got hurt or threatened, they would run to each other and make up a bit, have a little caring/possessive interlude; then totally go back to hurting each other with their seeing other people.  
  
It was a vicious hurt cycle. Emma wished they would get it over with and go back to being normal.  
  
He was picking up blondes, women who looked like Shalimar. Or else he allowed blondes to pick him up. Like tonight. She stole a glance at the dance floor. Oh yes, they were now sucking face. The (not) floozy was groping his very nice behind, and he was reciprocating. Emma looked away. She would probably have to go home alone tonight. Nursing her embarrassing secret. Damn him.  
  
She sipped her coke, feeling more morose than ever.  
  
Someone tapped her on her shoulder. She turned round. A young man, average looking, wearing a nervous grin and a sweatshirt.  
  
'Uh hi..do you want to dance?'  
  
She made a mental calculation - this is not someone she would be attracted to long-term - made a decision swiftly and shook her head. 'No thanks.'  
  
'Come on,' he persisted. 'It's just a dance.'  
  
'I don't feel like dancing tonight.' She really didn't. She just felt..well, blah. Like she had been feeling for the past 2 weeks post Valentine's Day. Where they had spent going undercover infiltrating something Adam said was important, though she really couldn't be sure about Adam anymore and whether what he thought was important was really important. Or whether he had some hidden agenda that he would only reveal to them when they mutated, or something scary like that.  
  
The world, lately, or at least it seemed to her, was coming to one big blah.  
  
She noticed the hurt in the young man's eyes, and felt a pang of regret for having caused him pain. But it was only for an instant. Better now than be sorry later, she told herself.  
  
'Is he bothering you?' She looked up to see Brennan looming over the young man's shoulder. My, that was quick. Where was Miss Suck Face?  
  
'No, not at all.'  
  
The young man took one nervous look at Brennan, and edged away. Emma had to smile. Bren could be real intimidating when he chose to. It was the size. 'You scared him away.'  
  
Brennan laughed and took a seat next to her. 'Like I said I would, but only if you weren't having fun.'  
  
'Where's your blonde friend?'  
  
'We'll hook up later. I got her number. Told her I was with my best friend tonight and we're spending quality time.'  
  
Emma felt another pang, a warm one this time. She felt a blush coming on. She always blushed too easily. 'Thanks, Bren.'  
  
'It's just that you've been so blue lately. I can't put my finger on it.' Brennan looked embarrassed. 'Don't mean to pry, but if you want to talk about it, I'm here for you. Not that I'm super great with advice or anything.' He looked away.  
  
'That really means a lot to me.'  
  
There then came one of those awkward moments where nobody quite knew where to look or what to say. They had too much history together. She couldn't even get a conscious emotion into her head, there was thought block.  
  
Emma averted her eyes and sipped her coke. Around them, the music crescendoed into something resembling wailing.  
  
'But hey,' Brennan exclaimed suddenly, breaking the tension. 'Why don't we chill out of here and go for a drive or something? Then maybe stop for a couple of burgers and chocolate milkshakes?'  
  
Emma smiled. He could be a darling sometimes. 'Sure. I like counting calories.'  
  
She took his proffered hand it was so huge, her little one felt lost in it, and they got up to leave.  
  
'And maybe you can tell me what's wrong, okay?' he murmured into her ear.  
  
She took a deep breath. Yes, her secret. It was so embarrassing really. Not something she would tell Shal. Or anyone. She glanced at his warm brown eyes. When he looked like this, so sincere and earnest-like, a woman could tell him anything. Probably most of them did. She pitied them.  
  
But she was feeling vulnerable tonight. And lonely. And she needed a catharsis of sorts. She needed to talk, to get it off her chest. And he was her best guy friend.  
  
'Okay, I will tell you. But not here.'  
  
'Fair enough, I'll drive.'  
  
'No, you're sploshed. I'll drive.'  
  
'I'm not sploshed, I can drive,' he dangled the keys out of her reach. 'Believe me Emma, when girls need to talk, it's best they don't drive.'  
  
She rolled her eyes. They got into the car, and settled into a comfortable silence while he drove into nowhere in particular. It was very pleasant, this aimless driving. She could tell he liked driving, it gave him focus. Just like everything he did. He needed focus. She liked to think she contributed to some of that when she got him to join the team. That was a long time ago, when she was more innocent and he less so. She suddenly felt wistful. Nostalgia was such a bummer. It made her feel old.  
  
The moon peeped from behind the clouds, bathing her hands in a soothing pale glow. She liked the night. Like Shalimar, who was predominantly nocturnal. In the day, the barrage of emotions from everyone around her assaulted her. She still wasn't that great at tuning everything out. Sometimes an errant emotion - especially a painful one - would crash through her careful defenses and she would feel...desperately, dangerously feel. So the night was like a balm of numbness after the torrid day. Sometimes numb was good.  
  
He was slowing down. He had gone off road, the wheels were turning over bumpily. They drew to a halt under a copse of trees. It was a real quiet spot. She wondered how many women he had driven here in this car. If she didn't know him as well as she did, she would have gotten suspicious.  
  
'Okay Emma,' he said, turning his full attention to her. 'I'm here if you want to talk.' He turned off the engine.  
  
She took a deep breath.  
  
He took her hand and looked into her eyes. 'You don't have to if you don't want to..'  
  
Damn him. He looked so sincere. Even if she had misgivings in the first place, there was no turning back now. He was making her feel feminine and vulnerable, damn him.  
  
'You'll laugh at me.' she began. 'It's so silly, really.'  
  
'I won't..' he promised.  
  
'It's just.just. ' she stammered, 'that I've been feeling..really blue lately. And it's.it's because..well, you know...I don't quite know how to put it...but after Valentine's Day..and ..you know...' She trailed off, embarrassed.  
  
He stayed silent for a minute, seemingly gathering his thoughts. 'I think I know what you're going to say. You didn't have a date. We were working. None of us had dates.'  
  
'Yeah, but even if we weren't working, I wouldn't have had a date anyway,' she said miserably.  
  
He nodded. 'A lot of girls I know get real uptight around Valentine's Day. Especially the 2 weeks preceding it. It's normal.'  
  
'No, it gets worse. It's just that..I was thinking how..' She closed her eyes, '..lonely I was, and how nothing ever seems to happen for me. You know, with Caleb..then Tyler..I know I've gotten over it, I'm not going to cry anymore. But I just feel so..empty, you know.'  
  
'Hey, hush,' he gathered her in his arms and hugged her. 'It's okay, I'm here.'  
  
'No no, I'm all cried out over them. I'm not going to cry anymore.' And strangely, she felt no tears coming to her eyes, again there was thought block the memory was too painful when she tried to think of Tyler, so she couldn't allow herself to think of him. She truly was all cried out. Even emotioned out, if emotion was a verb.  
  
He was rocking her gently. He felt so warm, like a giant teddy bear.  
  
'And.and..' She continued, not quite knowing why she was doing so, but the flood gates were opening, 'I'm turning 22 next month. I..I..made a resolution when I was 16 that before I turned 21, I wouldn't be a virgin anymore. But here I am, I'm going to turn 22 and I'm still a virgin.'  
  
There she had said it. And she was feeling more miserable than ever. So much for the catharsis.  
  
He stopped rocking her. He drew back and held her at arm's length so he could look at her. She noted the look of astonishment on his face. 'Are you serious?'  
  
'You're laughing at me,' she accused.  
  
'No no,' he protested. 'I'm not. I'm really not.' 'Just caught out, that's all. But I'm definitely not laughing. I..' He shook his head, smiling. 'I mean..and I'm not saying this to make you feel better or anything...but you're so beautiful and everything..and heck, I'm just surprised, that's all.'  
  
She pulled her arm sharply out of his grasp. 'This was a mistake, telling you.'  
  
'No no,' he caught her arms again and held her. Gently. 'I swear I'm not laughing. Seriously.' He shook his head again, like he was still having trouble believing it. 'Are you going to do anything about it?'  
  
'Well, I don't want it to be some random one night thing, you know,' she said desperately. She stopped herself before she added, Like almost all of yours. 'I don't want it to be a total stranger. And I just feel..I mean I have this need, and it's getting worse until it's eating me..I know you think I'm going crazy...'  
  
'I'll never think that,' he said softly. He looked away, seemingly lost in thought.  
  
There was an awkward pause. She wished they weren't in a car, stuck out in the middle of nowhere. She really felt like sinking into a hole at this moment.  
  
Then he said, 'What about me, Emma? I'm not a total stranger.'  
  
She looked up sharply. 'What?'  
  
He took a deep breath. 'I mean, I'm not a total stranger. If you want to lose your virginity before your birthday.. I mean..if you want someone experienced and all that..' He looked down, abashed. 'I could make love to you, if you wanted me to.'  
  
She felt her heart stop. 


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters, though I wish I did. They belong to Tribune Entertainment. Thanks for all the lovely reviews. Please don't stop giving them!  
  
Chapter 2  
  
'What...what...did you say?' She stammered after a moment. Her heart had momentarily stopped in her throat, she couldn't trust herself to speak.  
  
He raised his head to glance at her - she couldn't really see his face, the night was dark and the trees cast long grey shadows on everything - but she saw him furtively lick his lips, like a shadowy afterthought. Real nervous like. A fleeting thought crossed her mind - Brennan Mulwray nervous... it was almost unimaginable. But the night was turning topsy- turvy and so was her world.  
  
'I.....I...' he began. His voice was hoarse. He looked away.  
  
She waited, her pulse drumming a frenetic staccato in her neck, almost as if it would burst out of her artery and gush out all the complex feelings she wasn't daring herself to feel in her head. A minute passed, but he never finished. She realized he was at a loss for words another first. The situation would have been hilarious had it not been so intense.  
  
He wasn't the only one at a loss for words. She desperately wanted to say something to diffuse the discomfort of the moment. Preferably something witty and funny - like the kind of smart-ass repartee he would normally make - and they would laugh it off and go grab their burgers, or she would punch him in the arm for being chauvinistic, and go grab their burgers anyway.  
  
How are we going to go back after this? She pondered. To where we were? How can anyone go back after this?  
  
She opened her mouth to say something, but her voice came out in a half-squeak that was so puny she hoped he hadn't heard it.  
  
The silence between them hung heavy, pregnant with expectation. Outside, the wind lifted the tree branches, rustling the leaves in a way that could only mean an approaching storm.  
  
He seemed to gather his composure. 'I....' He paused and stole another glance at her. Seeming to make up his mind about something.  
  
'Forget I ever said anything,' he said abruptly, and reached for the key in the ignition.  
  
A shudder coursed through her as the engine started. She suddenly found her voice.  
  
'No,' she laid her hand on his arm, before she knew what she was doing. 'No. I heard it right the first time. I know what you're saying, Brennan.'  
  
He looked at her expectantly.  
  
She took a deep breath. Her hand felt clammy where she touched his arm. She hoped he didn't notice that. 'I....I'm just so scared I need to think about it.'  
  
He nodded, relieved. 'I just thought to offer..you know...I mean, because you said..what you said...'  
  
She squeezed his arm without meaning to. Her hands felt real shaky. 'Yes, yes..I did say it...'  
  
'And..it's a real big thing....you know, for girls....' He grabbed the gear and made a big do about shifting it into reverse. 'I didn't mean to say it was only for girls. I mean, for everyone....and you obviously need to think more about it.'  
  
'Yes... I do......' she trailed off. The clear dark shape of the lock on the car window suddenly seemed interesting.  
  
'So we should just go grab our burgers and shakes.' There was just the slightest strain on his tones. The Camaro was trundling over tree roots and bumpy patches.  
  
'Yes, she agreed, her voice unsteady. 'That would be lovely.'  
  
The wind was really swooping outside. Clouds scurried across the sky and the shadows dipped and danced. Nature seemed to be in a real rush about things all of a sudden. She wondered if she was - what was the term used for tele-empaths who could project their feelings onto nature - was there even such a thing? Or maybe the whole world simply felt as rushed as she felt, and they were projecting THEIR feelings onto her instead.  
  
She was tele-babbling. Making no sense whatsoever. Inside the car, the air was really oppressive.  
  
What do I do? She wondered desperately. What do I do now? How does one think about things like these? She could not even articulate her need honestly. Not even to herself. She only knew she felt so lonely - so incredibly empty.... Dread chasms upon valleys-like empty - Like there was a bottomless pit in the center of her stomach that would not be filled. Not today, not tomorrow, almost as though she had been feeling this irrepressible yearning her whole life. Was that what women did when they were depressed and lonely? Attempt to fill that hole in their bellies; and when those holes wouldn't - couldn't - be filled, what did they do next?  
  
Think, Emma, she pleaded.  
  
It was not as though she didn't find him physically attractive. Quite the contrary. Sometimes she didn't even trust herself to look at him, for fear of being caught out for staring too long. Staring at your best guy friend for more than a minute would definitely be perceived as sexually unhealthy. But at the same time, personality-wise, he was so totally wrong for her, definitely the kind of guy she would choose to stay away from if they hadn't been friends. (And of course, when she found out he was exactly that kind of guy, it was too late. They were already friends).  
  
But wait. She mentally kicked herself. She was approaching this the wrong way. He had never said for one minute not that he had said much it was going to be anything but a one off (she hated to admit it) one night interlude. Feelings didn't come into the equation. He was just offering to help her out, something a friend would do. (And you know that's not entirely true, Emma). Where they went from here....relationships didn't even figure.  
  
She found her voice again. Keep cool. Try to keep it from shaking. 'I need to ask you.... when you said what you did....it's just a...one off thing, right? I mean....you didn't mean for it to be ...with any strings attached?'  
  
She didn't dare herself to hear the answer.  
  
'No of course not,' he said huskily, never taking his eyes off the wheel. 'No strings attached. Just trying to help, that's all.'  
  
Okay, she whispered to herself. He's not asking to start a relationship. She almost laughed out loud. Of course he's not asking to start a relationship. When did Brennan ever ask to start relationships? This was so totally in character she wondered why she even bothered to think about it in the first place.  
  
And if he were, you know he's so totally wrong for you.  
  
She wondered why she felt so disappointed.  
  
'But,' he continued hastily, 'it's not as if I think you're a charity help case, or anything.' He looked alarmed. 'I'm sorry. I didn't mean for it to come out the way it did. Of course you're not a charity case. And I'm not doing it out of charity...I mean I'm just trying to help..' She heard him groan inwardly. 'I'm screwing it up, aren't I? Maybe I'd just better shut up before I say something really stupid.'  
  
She wanted to laugh. 'No it's okay. I know what you mean.'  
  
Now he was babbling.  
  
'And I know it's a big deal for girls....for guys it's not such a big deal, you know....' He snatched a look at her. 'I'm doing it again, aren't I? Saying all the wrong things? I shouldn't have generalized that. For some guys, I mean, sex is a big deal...but not for guys like me....' The car veered slightly as he swerved round some troublesome object that had fallen off onto the road. 'God, that came out wrong. I mean, it's also a big deal for guys like me, I like sex as much as the next guy.... but it's not like it's got to be in a relationship or anything....and I know that sounds really crass...' He trailed off lamely.  
  
They drove on in silence for a while. On the windshield, rain drops the size of quarters began to spatter with a loud thuck-thuck-thuck knocking. Momentarily, the spatter turned into a deluge, and the entire screen was covered in a blinding downpour. Brennan switched on the headlights, adjusted the gear to fog handling mode and turned up the wipers to maximum.  
  
She swallowed. Her throat felt parched despite the wetness outside, like she had been running a marathon.  
  
What do you do, Emma? What do you do? You know what you want. Be honest. She clasped her hands. Clammy cold. Tele-nature-emphatic.  
  
For once, carpe diem. Be decisive. You're only in this spot today because you've never been decisive.  
  
Gripping the armrest by the door, she said, 'Yes.'  
  
He was momentarily distracted by the headlights from an oncoming car. 'Hmmm?"  
  
Inside her chest, her heart was thrumming up a painful beat. Was this what adrenaline felt like? She breathed deeply. 'I said yes.' Yes, adrenaline. If her heart slammed onto her ribs any harder, she knew they would break.  
  
For a second, she thought he hadn't heard her, the rain was coming down too loud onto the metal bonnet of the car.  
  
Then he said 'Okay.' Keeping his eyes tightly fixed on the road. Not looking at her.  
  
She didn't want to look at him either. A laugh bubbled up her very parched throat and threatened to spill out over her sides. If they weren't even going to look at each other, how were they ever going to get to do IT?  
  
'Any time you're ready,' he added.  
  
She gripped the armrest even tighter. 'Like now's a good time.' She couldn't believe she said that. But she had to say it before she lost her nerve completely.  
  
He slammed on the brakes. She felt herself jolt forward, thankful she was wearing a seat belt. The car skidded to a halt by the side of the road. Behind them, an 18-wheeler truck whooshed past, horns blaring.  
  
'Woah, Emma,' he was breathing hard, his hands gripping the steering wheel. 'You really know how to surprise a guy.'  
  
Yes I really do, she thought, a wild laugh escaping her. Sometimes I surprise even myself.  
  
She found herself saying, 'Unless you don't want to..of course...'  
  
'No no, I can do it any time.' He turned to look at her, reaching out with his hand to tilt her head towards him. His other hand fumbled with the light switch overhead. They had been in darkness for what seemed like a long while, and it suddenly hit her full blast. Her pupils instantly contracted and she had to squint.  
  
Oh my god, she whimpered inwardly. What am I doing?  
  
'I mean to say....' He offered sheepishly, 'most guys can do it any time...'  
  
She didn't really want to look at him, but she couldn't take her eyes away. In the dim yellow incandescence, he was looking particularly gorgeous. The planes of his face were clean and stark, and his usual super put on macho exterior had melted away, leaving on him a wistful expression of vulnerability. Almost as though he could be innocent again. It suited him.  
  
'I have to do it now,' she said, 'before I think too much about it.'  
  
He shook his head. 'Emma, the last thing I want to do is to take advantage of you when you're feeling like this -'  
  
'No. It's something I need right now. I need..this.' Somehow, talking to him was making her feel better. More decisive. 'I just don't want you to think I'm taking advantage of you -'  
  
'No,' he laughed. 'You must never think that. I can ever be taken advantage of....Not in a million years. It's different for us guys.'  
  
There was just something else she needed to tell him. Something important. Her other embarrassing secret. But not yet. The time wasn't right.  
  
'I just need to be.....held, you know.' She looked at him expectantly.  
  
'I know, I know.' He ran his finger across her cheek, almost absent- mindedly. 'All of us need that, once in a while.' His face clouded, and his hand dropped to his side. 'Sometimes more than once in a while.'  
  
Instinctively, deep down inside, she knew he needed to be comforted too. Almost as much as she did.  
  
'So, she asked, 'what do we do now?'  
  
Her heart was beating wildly again. In a little while, she thought, I'm going to be making love to one of the most gorgeous guys on the planet. Why does that thought petrify me so?  
  
He said slowly, 'We don't want to do it back home, do we?'  
  
'No,' she shook her head. That would be a mistake.  
  
'And we don't want to tell anyone about this? This will just be between us. Our little secret, right?'  
  
'Yes.' They would most definitely not tell anyone. It would be too mortifying. She would have to bury herself in a hole and die. And after that, she would have to bury the others in a hole, and hoped they died too.  
  
'Okay,' he breathed. 'Then we'll have to go to a motel.'  
  
'Yes, a motel.'  
  
'Um....I know one around here.' Why did that not surprise her? 'It's clean, you know. Not sleazy.' He sounded apologetic. 'Unless you prefer something classier....after all, it's your first time and it's special and all that -'  
  
'No, no. A motel suits me fine.' She had been in plenty of motels. Backpacking in the days when she was poorer. At least she would be familiar. It would almost be like home.  
  
'Okay.' He started the car again, and guided it on to the road. 'And you can change your mind any time you want to. All you have to do is to say stop, okay?'  
  
'Okay.' She wanted to laugh again. Most of the time, he tried to come off as a super sexy stud, but underneath it all, he was really very nice and caring.  
  
'And don't worry about prophylactics.' He gestured at the glove compartment. 'I've got them right here.' He cocked his head ruefully. 'That sounds terrible, doesn't it? It doesn't make me look very decent.'  
  
Of course he would have prophylactics. He was just being....Brennan. She had to smile. 'It's okay. You have a life, even if I don't.'  
  
Later. She definitely would have to tell him later.  
  
They drove the rest of the journey in silence, not trusting themselves to speak any more while she gazed out of the window, awaiting the approaching rest-of-the-night with trepidation.  
  
TBC 


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters, though I wish I did. They belong to Tribune Entertainment. To Dare: I was tempted to have Emma read Brennan as well, even in Chapter 2. But it's explained later why she doesn't. To Feral86: You can copy and paste this story any time for posting on your board. Thank you so much, and you have a lovely site.  
  
Oh, and please leave a lot of reviews, critical as well. If you can't 'see' the characters and the scenes they are in, or if you can't 'feel' for them, you have to tell me. I'm writing my first fiction novel after this, it's extremely character driven, and I have to improve.  
  
This chapter is rated mostly PG-13, with R towards the end  
  
Chapter 3  
  
He drove them to a motel with a gaudy neon signboard out in front, which was supposed to have flashed 'Harrod's Inn. $84 a night. Rooms available now.' Only the 'a' in Harrod's was dim and the '8' was hanging lopsided by a electronic thread, or whatever it was that held those things. She wasn't much of an electronics type, but she supposed he would know. The rain was pouring down but she could make out a U shaped building with 2 floors, with individual room doors connected by a running balcony that looked out into the centrally placed car park. Like innumerable motels across the continent. Nondescript and featureless really, like all the little towns and all the people in them who had problems like hers.  
  
There were a number of parked cars in the courtyard. Somewhere to her left, a car alarm had been triggered, probably by the rain - though in these kinds of motels you really couldn't be sure - and the hapless automobile was flashing its rear lamps off and on, competing with the wind on which would make the loudest 'whoo'-ing sound. And losing helplessly. I hope it won't be too noisy to sleep in, she thought, when the alarm howled one last challenge to the storm and switched itself off.  
  
The Camaro drew under the central porch, the only shaded area in the courtyard, and crawled to a stop. Light from closed glass doors, the central reception area she presumed, spilled out and threw elongated shadows onto the car seats, shielding his face from hers. Leaving the engine still running, he got out and walked round in front to the passenger door - her side - and opened it.  
  
'This way you won't have to go into the rain,' he said. Holding the door open and proffering his hand.  
  
Oh yes, very thoughtful, he's a real charmer. She could see why so many women would fall for him. She muttered a 'Thanks', which was probably inaudible against the sound of the storm, and fumbled for her purse which she had stashed under the seat. She remembered picking out this purse because it was red. To match the color of her jacket. Shalimar had picked it out for her when it was on 40% discount at a really posh store, the kind she wouldn't normally shop in unless she was with Shal. She remembered that particular date. It was a girls' afternoon out, they had watched a movie at a second run theatre - David Lynch's 'Mulholland Drive' - and after that they had gone to Dan Ryan's for coffee and a fudge covered brownie. They had giggled about guys, not about Brennan or Jesse in particular.  
  
When she thought about Shalimar, she felt a stab of guilt.  
  
But they're not seeing each other, right? He's so neck up with other women, and Shal seemed desperately to be trying to get herself attracted to other men as well. Emma took his hand, wondering if this would later be viewed as an act of betrayal - it made her nervous again, and some niggling second thoughts about going through with it prodded the back of her conscience edgily - until she told herself it was only for one night; and there were no relationships or emotions attached to this....What did he call it again? Right. Strings.  
  
And besides, Shal would never, never know.  
  
There was that guilt twinge again, grinding in the pit of her stomach and making her slightly nauseous. Stop it, Emma, she scolded herself. The world did not revolve around Shal, and if she didn't seize her chance, other people were sure as heck not going to wait around for her to make up her mind/not make up her mind. As though Brennan were some yammering toothache that wouldn't go away unless she did something about it, and Shal did particularly have dentist phobia. Well, at the rate she was going, it would be an interminable wait. No, Emma decided. She was going to do this for herself.  
  
When the heck did she get so decisive? She squeezed Brennan's hand, not sure if she was liking the new her.  
  
He led her into the motel reception, opening the door. 'Just wait here, Emma, I'll go park the car.' She stepped into the room, the bright light assaulting her eyes. Perhaps she shouldn't have worn red. It made her stand out. Too starkly. Like she was some red harlot woman. She could feel the receptionist's eyes on her. She almost took an involuntary step backward, turned to grab Brennan's arm but he had disappeared.  
  
The young receptionist cleared his throat, he was Indian, she presumed - not Native American Indian but Indian as from the subcontinent. 'Room for the night, miss?' he said a little too brightly.  
  
'Um.... yes.' She approached the counter, not daring to meet his eyes. He knows, she thought. Some anonymous person knows and if I feel embarrassed about it, it hasn't hit me. At least, not yet. She was coasting on an adrenaline spike. She wasn't sure when it would dip, but when it did, she was certain the floor would fall from under her. 'One room please. Where do I sign?'  
  
'Just one night?'  
  
'Yes, just one night.' She wrote a name on the foolscap ledger with the ballpoint pen that was attached to it by a string. It smudged. On a whimsy, she had written 'Michelle Bigelow.' In tribute to her best friend from high school.  
  
'Breakfast will be coffee and donuts, from seven till ten thirty. Check out is at twelve. That'll be $84, miss.'  
  
'Okay,' she fumbled in her purse for her wallet.  
  
'Hey, I'll get that.' She turned to see Brennan coming from behind her and sliding a credit card across the counter.  
  
The receptionist turned up his smile one beam brighter. 'Mr Mulw..' She saw Brennan give him a pointed look. 'Well, hello sir. We're all signed up here. I'll just swipe your card and give you your keys.'  
  
She wondered if Brennan kept a tab. And also, if he had a special favorite room. It was nice of him anyway to keep up pretenses just to make her feel better. Like she was the first not floozy he had taken here. He was dripping a little from the rain, he had worn a windbreaker but was now shrugging it off, dripping little puddles on the threadbare (but clean) carpet. His shoes were soaked, and he was wiping his wet face with the back of his hand. That gesture gave her a pang, she could actually see the little boy in him doing just that. Somehow, that made her feel protective all of a sudden. She wondered why he never carried an umbrella - if it was any of them who couldn't afford to get unnecessarily wet, it was him - but he probably thought it wouldn't suit his image. Or something knuckle- headed like that.  
  
He smiled at her. 'Let's go.' And led her out into the howling night. The stairs that led upstairs were shaded, but the wind was blowing something furious, and the steps were wetly slick with something slippery. And he wrapped his windbreaker around her, carefully smothering her head in the enormous hood. Smoothening her errant wisps of hair and tucking them behind her ear.  
  
'What about you?'  
  
'It's okay, I'll dry myself off later.' He put his arm around her and gingerly guided her upstairs. 'Careful, don't slip. Hold on to me.'  
  
A woman could just fall in love. No, not that, she prayed, never that. Not with a guy like him. It would be the greatest folly. Especially when they had predetermined - actually HE had done most of the predetermining - it would only be for one night. So she would just have to harden her resolve, steel her emotions and keep them in check. But still - it was so nice to pretend....  
  
The room number was 211. She would remember that. He inserted the key into the lock, and turned it. She shivered. She was seeing symbols in things. They stepped into the room and he closed the door against the elements, shutting out the keening of the wind. The room was dark and chilly, he slotted the key into the holder and fumbled for the switches next to the door. The overhead fluorescent flickered on once, twice, then blacked out completely - until she was almost sure they would going to spend the entire night in darkness - when it caught again and stayed on, buzzing a low-drone hum.  
  
'Boy, it's cold,' he said, shrugging off his wet jacket. It was the red and black one, the one that suited him best; the one he had, like, forever. She wondered if he did his own shopping, because his tastes were eclectic to the say the least, or if his clothes were gifts from the numerous women who courted him. (And if that was the case, then THEY had questionable tastes). His hair was plastered on his head, it had grown out from his previous cut and was looking more like when she had first met him at the bar, many months ago. Somehow, this invoked in her a feeling of inexplicable wistfulness.  
  
He was trying to turn up the thermostat. 'This will probably take a while, but I set it up to 30. It'll probably cook us.' He turned to her. 'Let me help you get out of that.'  
  
If she wasn't so frozen, she was sure the blood in her limbs would be coursing a lot faster, pumping right into her heart and spilling out again in watery urgency. He eased the windbreaker off her, quipping 'It looks good on you, you look like Little Blue Riding Hood', which might have provoked a smile from her had she not been so tense, and ran his hand once through her hair absently, tousling it.  
  
'Do you want me to take a shower?' he asked.  
  
This took her by surprise. His nearness discomfited her. She wasn't sure she was looking her best. 'Uh....well, you don't have to if you don't want to.'  
  
'Well, I'll take one anyway, I feel like a drowned rat.' He sank down on to the only armchair in the room, which was as green as the carpet (she noted that), and bent down to remove his shoes. 'Ugh. This is really really wet. If we get attacked tonight, I'm not going to be much help. So you'll just have to fight them off yourself with your third eye thingie.'  
  
He called her psionic blast her third eye thingie. She had to smile. After the awkwardness in the car, he was returning gradually to the Brennan she knew. She was glad for that.  
  
She unzipped her red jacket, took it off and carefully laid it across the back of the armchair, watching him out of the corner of her eye as he peeled off the tatty tank top he was wearing, revealing his very admirable physique. She had always maintained that he was a little too comfortable about his own body. Why, he practically walked around Sanctuary half-naked all the time, and had such a minimalistic sense of self-awareness that he hardly noticed it himself. But no matter how many times she had seen his body, he was still gasp-evokingly stunning and she could never resist soaking in the sight of him. Tonight of course it took on special meaning.  
  
He began to unbuckle his belt, and the enormity of the situation suddenly sank into her and she turned away, blushing. Perhaps it would have better with a total stranger. At least there would have had been closure. The queasiness in the pit of her stomach took on a new pitch. Please don't strip all at once, she begged silently, I don't know if I can handle it.  
  
He seemed to hear her, and stopped. She wasn't quite sure if she had unintentionally projected onto him, but it was quite possible. Her mind played funny tricks on her (and everyone else) when she was disconcerted. If he was aware of it, he shrugged it off anyway, and grinned at her. 'I'll be heading into the shower.' A pause. He seemed to hesitate. There was nothing sexual in his expression. 'Do you want to join me?'  
  
Her breath caught in her throat. There was a questioning (hopeful?) look in his eyes.  
  
A wave of torrid images swept through her mind - glistening hands groping wet slick bodies, hungry moist mouths urgent with need, bare limbs being kissed and adulated, the taste of bath water on skin, saltily tanged with the mild sheen of perspiration - and she gasped, another maelstrom of undefined emotions raging through her. She felt a sudden trickling moistness in her core and an aching unfulfilled need somewhere in her deep secret recesses, which would have had been embarrassing if she had allowed herself to admit to it. Did the images come from him? Unconsciously projected from the memory of a previous encounter? Or was it her own repressed subconscious conjuring her need into a fantastical erotica?  
  
Her mouth went dry, and she had to lick her lips.  
  
'Uh...I don't know if I'm ready for that, Brennan. Not yet anyway. I just need to ....settle down a bit.'  
  
He looked disappointed. 'Okay. Next time maybe.' He seemed to realize the import of his words before she did. Would there even be a next time? 'Or later. When you're feeling up to it.' Another pause. Then he looked around the room in a sudden awkward haste, muttering. 'Where're the towels?' and disappeared into the bathroom.  
  
She wanted to call out to him, 'It's not you, Brennan, it's me,' but the sound of a running shower being turned on made it pointless - he wouldn't have heard her anyway. He had left the bathroom door slightly ajar, the yellow light was spilling out, almost like an invitation should she have changed her mind. She wondered if she dared, and decided no, she didn't have that kind of dare in her.  
  
She looked around the room. It was like he said, spartan but clean. There was a double bed in the center, flanked by two side dressers; the bedspread was a dull green to match the carpet. Overall it was a very understated room. There was a television set facing the bed. So motel room Americana. She picked up the remote and turned it on. Distraction was what she needed right now. Oh, and yes....time to settle down.  
  
And how did one settle down around here? It wasn't as if she had brought a nightie, not that she was a nightie person to begin with she was more elongated T-shirt and comfortable panties type. Was she supposed to get into bed and strip into her undergarments, waiting for him? (the words 'wanton harlot' crept unbidden to her mind). And if she didn't, purposefully decking herself out on the bed in the full regalia she had on now, would he think her school marmly prissy and uptight?  
  
She wondered if he was beginning to regret his decision now, and the thought of that upset her more than she would have imagined possible. She was tempted to get a reading off him, just to get a desperate feel of what he was thinking. They had all agreed long ago, the four of them, that it was a violation of the highest order of any of them were to use their powers against each other, unless it was a life and death situation or if they had to prevent one another from hurting themselves. So Jesse didn't walk through walls to spy on them in their bedrooms. Shalimar didn't prowl around panther-like on the rafters and drop down to pounce on them if they were eating a particularly good tidbit. Brennan didn't joy buzz anyone's knee underneath the dinner table to make them swallow their soup spoons though he sometimes forgot, or so he said. And she, well, they always claimed she had the most lethal power of them all. She wasn't supposed to read them unless she had their explicit permission, and that went for day time, night time, any time.  
  
Most of the time, that worked for her since she considered herself above this petty prying, and past experiences revealed that sometimes, it was really best not to know what someone else was thinking about. But at moments like now, when nervous curiosity was eating away at her at the verge of a hyperventilation attack, with all that power within at her grasp.....No. She turned away from the temptation she was better than that and pondered instead on the state of her undress. Perhaps she would settle for something in between. She would keep her blouse on but remove her slacks, which were wet anyway at the lower trouser legs, so when she snuggled into bed, the blanket would obscure the view of her lower body. Yes, that was best.  
  
In consternation, she noted she was wearing her white lacy panties with the little blue ribbon, the one that was so teenager-like. Perhaps he wouldn't notice. Perhaps a little less light was called for. Switching on both bedside lamps, she crossed the room to turn off the fluorescent, when she caught her reflection on the dressing table mirror. Her hair looked officially ghastly. Frantic, she fumbled in her purse for her comb and ran it hurriedly through her red waves. She wondered if she should touch up her lipstick, and decided against it because it wouldn't do later if it were smudged.  
  
By the time he had finished showering, she was tucked up in bed, the rough green blanket covering her waist demurely, the top two buttons of her blouse undone that was as far as she would contribute towards being less uptight. He emerged, toweling his hair dry, she noted with relief he was wearing boxers because she couldn't handle him being totally naked, not yet.  
  
'Wow, it's cosy,' he remarked. 'What's on TV?'  
  
'Nothing much.'  
  
He picked up the remote and began to channel flip. She observed this with just a hint of irritation. He was so typically male. It was well past midnight, and a cable channel flashing soft porn images appeared. 'Do you want to watch this?' he asked, looking at her.  
  
She felt her cheeks flushing. 'Not really.'  
  
'Okay.' He flipped one channel up, tossed the towel aside and shook his hair. Bathed in the pale yellow light, his well-toned body gleamed with a certain phosphorescence. Lifting the blanket on the other side of the bed, he murmured, 'Mind if I share?' and promptly got in without waiting for an answer. Her heart began to beat a little faster. Here it comes, she thought. He made a big do about fluffing his pillow and propping it up against the headboard. He then leaned back into it and tucked the blanket around his waist.  
  
'Do you want to cuddle up to me?' He said, his expression solemn.  
  
Her tongue went slightly dry. 'Okay.' He snuggled closer, enveloping her head in the crook of his arm and gently laying it against his chest. Like love. She could feel his skin against her cheek, and the rise and fall of his chest as he breathed. He was so warm, so alive, his skin mildly flushed and tingly from the shower. She moved her bare legs beneath the blanket, feeling a frisson of contact as they brushed against his. She wondered if she dared put her arm around his waist.  
  
For a while, they lay like this, watching everything and nothing in particular on TV, though she couldn't honestly remember a single image or word, her heart was fluttering too much in her throat for her to experience any other sensation.  
  
Then the realization dawned upon her that he wasn't going to do anything. He was waiting for her to make the first move.  
  
Do I dare? She wondered. She had come so far, made so many important choices. Out of no volition of her own, her shaky hand rose from beneath the blanket to caress his waist, running across the taut silky skin that encased his abdominal muscles, the ones she had always admired from afar. Her boldness surprised even her.  
  
She felt them contract with his sharp intake of breath. He pulled her closer, breathing the scent of her hair on the top of her head, his other hand coming around to stroke her face. Lifting her chin, he bent down to give her the first kiss, close-mouthed, almost chastely. She closed her eyes, her body becoming one giant sensory orifice as his kisses became more insistent, his tongue flicking deftly between her lips, probing, running across them, tasting them. She was glad she wasn't wearing lipstick. The smudge would have been incredible. She had never imagined kissing him would be like this.  
  
He raised himself from the bed on his forearms, and pulled the upright pillows away. Laying her head on the mattress with care, he pushed the strands of hair away from her face. He was breathing slightly more heavily. He kissed her again, deep searching kisses; inserting his tongue into her mouth in wet, sweet invasion. She had always regarded French kissing to be a little indecent, violating too much of one's personal modesty. She had never exulted in it and maybe it was always with the wrong person, but Brennan made it so good, so very very good. He had perfect lip pressure, the right cadence; and he was obviously so very practiced in it. Oh God..  
  
She could let him kiss her forever. But pretty soon, he's going to want more....they all did. And why did that thought come unbidden into her head? Did she not sanction this union? Did she not, in theory, want it to go a lot further?  
  
Her heart began to drum up a tempo again as he moved his mouth to her neck, looked up mischievously and said, 'Don't worry, I won't give you a hickey', and bent down again, leaving sensuous trails down her throat. 'Let's get this off, shall we?' He tugged at her collar, and his hands moved to fumble with her buttons. She wondered if he would be able to get them off, he had such large hands, but he dexterously (and swiftly) proved her wrong. The skin of her chest and belly shivered as it came into contact with the cold air of the room (the thermostat had still not kicked up). Peeling both sides of her blouse apart with laborious care, he gazed at her brassiere.  
  
'Pretty,' he remarked. He tugged at her bra strap, and let the elastic go with a playful snap. In alarm, she realized her bra and panties did not match. Would he notice? The air suddenly seemed heavy, the room's shadows sinisterly mocking. And when she was lying on her back like this, there was an obvious lack of cleavage. He had to notice that. Did that disappoint him, just like it had disappointed her for, like, forever since she was 13 and had begun to bud a semblance of breasts? Which did exactly that..stay a mere semblance of breasts. She wanted to reach out to turn the bedside lamps off, wishing now she had listened to Shalimar's advice about Maximizers.  
  
If he had noticed, it didn't register. 'And let's get this off too, shall we?' He was teasing, his eyes were smiling with him. He drew her up, and helped her take off her blouse, taking care not to let it get caught in her arms. She felt a flush coming to her cheeks again, and this time the warmth was spreading down to her chest. She always did blush too easily. He was gazing at her, not a nonchalant gaze but the deep, admiring stare of a man looking at a woman he found worthy. Still locking eyes with her, he reached behind to unclasp her bra.  
  
She gasped as he removed it, revealing her breasts in all their stark (un)glory. Instinctively, she moved to cover them with her arms.  
  
He appeared bemused. 'But no, Emma, you're beautiful.' He gently tugged her arms away. 'Believe me, you are beautiful in every way. Look, these are made to be kissed.'  
  
He pushed her down on the bed again and did exactly that. Cupping, squeezing, teasing with his lips and tongue, applying gentle suction pressure, making her feel wonderfully like a woman with breasts to be proud of. And all the while his hand was trailing down, languorously circling her belly button, and further down; slipping beneath the elastic band of her panties. She gasped again as he touched her core, explored it, found a sensitive nub and began to apply finger pressure onto it (she wasn't sure, but she thought it was his third finger)....But oh my God he was so gentle, she didn't think he would be in the beginning because he was such a big man, but ooooh, and aaaahh...  
  
He was bringing her to a crest of orgasm she wasn't ready for and she squirmed, 'Please Brennan...not yet....I can't stand it.....' But he did it anyway, his mouth never straying from her breasts. And when she closed her eyes, shuddering in pleasurable arousal my first orgasm with a man, he paused to look at her, that faint grin still on his face, and started it all over again. He was merciless. She struggled out of his grasp, but he held her, and the pressure grew harder, and faster, and she came two more times before she fell back, panting, sweat fringing her face.  
  
Oh my, but he was good.  
  
And she realized why he was so good; it was because he loved women for the very sake that they were women. And he loved their bodies, he loved pleasuring them, possibly more than he loved being pleasured by them. Maybe it was an ego thing with him, but no sane woman could possibly complain.  
  
He hooked both thumbs underneath the sides of her panties, made no mention about the blue ribbon, and peeled them off. Her blush deepened as he stared deep and hard, she wondered if she had any inadequacies down there as well, when he leant over to kiss her wetly startling her and provoking a moan, meting out the same treatment to her sensitive core as he did to her lips and breasts. His hands pushed down against her thighs, prying them apart; she would have cried out in sheer pleasure had she not been so embarrassed. The sensations were incredible, she wouldn't even begin to describe them to herself, no one had ever done this for her before. She felt another orgasm building, when he stopped the withdrawal felt almost like cold turkey, she now knew how smokers felt, 'No, not yet. We'll save that for later.'  
  
And touched her again, down there. 'Wet enough,' he whispered in her ear. 'Maybe you're ready.' He rolled away from her and got up. 'Don't go away, I'll be back.'  
  
She watched him saunter across the room - he was so magnificent - pausing to turn the television off - she couldn't believe it was still on, she hadn't heard anything except the rushing of blood in her ears for the past half hour - and grabbing his pants to remove something from his pocket. (It was the prophylactics, she thought, and clenched her fists, gathering up bunches of bedsheet.) Her palpitations were returning.  
  
He returned, and for the first time, she noticed the bulge in his boxers, forming a tent in the material. Why hadn't she noticed that before? Panic, like a vortex, was forming. Not again, she pleaded. When are you going to tell him? You haven't told him yet ...if you don't tell him now it's going to be too late....oh God....  
  
He slipped his boxers off, and her worst fears were realized. He was so horribly huge. She was launching into a full-scale panic attack - her throat was constricting, her heart had gone into major arrhythmia, her pupils were letting the light in, hurting her eyes. Her skin felt unbearably hot all of a sudden, and she felt as though she had to claw it off to escape that dreadful choking....He was slipping on a condom, it looked so tight on him, she wondered if it might burst.....he was positioning himself on top of her, opening her legs, his hands felt cold, things were rushing by in a blur, photokinetic images in a strobe machine....and all she could think of was how everything was spiraling downward and inward.....  
  
With all her strength, she placed both hands on his hips and pushed him away hard. Crying 'Stop.'  
  
TBC 


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters, except for my own. The rest belong to Tribune Entertainment.  
  
Remember, I need you to give me R & R to keep me going! I've not been sleeping well lately and it's taking a toll. I've been so busy with work and real life, and it's getting harder to find extra time to write this. So please leave a R & R, it will keep me going. And I do know where this story is going, I have a beginning, a middle and an end. It's all the rest in between that I have to fill in.  
  
Note: This is where the story's title kicks in. I will be attempting a different narrative style. Don't mind it, it's going to get a little implausible. But it's my way of letting reality go.  
  
Rated PG-13, with a mild R at the end  
  
Chapter 4  
  
He paused, still poised on top of her. His breathing was hard and heavy and drops of perspiration were beginning to bead his forehead. The expression on his face was a mixture of conflicting emotions, none that she could read.  
  
Then he rolled over and sank back into the bed. His chest was rising and falling. He sighed, a long drawn one. 'Oh jeez, Emma. You really know how to work up a guy.'  
  
She wasn't sure if she had hurt his feelings. That was what she had been doing lately, hurting everyone's feelings. It was best to assume she did. 'I'm sorry Brennan. It's just that....well... I've had problems...' Damn it, now she was too embarrassed to tell him.  
  
He was still panting. 'Is it me? The fact you're having second thoughts? Is it because of me?'  
  
She raised herself on one elbow to look into his eyes. 'No. It's far from being you.' He was still having an incredibly enormous erection, she supposed it would take some time for him to deflate oh, most women would have loved that. Helplessly, she reached out with her hand and grasped him down there, making him shudder. Somehow this thrilled her - to think that she had just a little bit of power over him, it made her a little less inadequate.  
  
She took a deep breath. 'All my life, I've had this problem. The fact that I'm still a virgin, it isn't for the lack of trying.'  
  
His face took on a look of genuine concern. 'Did someone hurt you, Emma?'  
  
She hesitated. 'In a manner of speaking, yes. I need to tell you my story.....'  
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX  
Emma's parents had always been hippie types, modern day hippies in a world that had moved on. In so many ways, they reminded her of Dharma's parents in that television series. Except that even with a daughter in tow, they hadn't changed and hadn't grown up. Or maybe grown-up wasn't the word she should have used, they certainly thought they were championing adult issues and she was the one who needed to catch up.  
  
Anyhow, she was probably a mistake for them in the first place. They never really told her, but she gathered they were 2 college kids high on pot who needed money because they were cut off from their own parents who never approved of their Haight-Ashbury type lifestyle. At that time, college students being drafted into drug trials for a bit of pocket money were the rage. (In fact, they still are). Those were what the pharmaceutical companies called Phase 2 clinical trials and they tested the extremes of drug side effects at different doses. People willingly signed up for them. They were paid fairly huge sums to be guinea pigs, and Emma's parents probably thought they were testing out a new antibiotic or something.  
  
Except the company concerned was Genomex and the experiments were genetic. So when Emma was born as an accident - her parents thought she was their natural love child - , they had gotten their money, thought everything was hunky-dory and did not make any connections until way later.  
  
Childhood was something you couldn't classify as happy or unhappy, it just happened with its highs and lows and Emma's wasn't any different. Oh well, some things were different. Like the fact her parents were total vegetarians (they didn't even eat eggs). They shunned technology, and she was glad they even had electricity, otherwise they would be in total darkness because they didn't even believe in kerosene lamps either. They didn't have a car ('We have to do our best for fuel consumption,' her mother sniffed, 'even if the rest of the world isn't doing so'). And although they provided her the bare basics of everything a child would need, emotionally they were - heck, this was the best she could describe it - absentee parents.  
  
Perhaps because her parents were so permissive sexually (they never married, they continued to have multiple partners despite being together, sometimes in threesomes and foursomes), Emma grew up quite the opposite. Somewhere along the way, between making friends in school who had conservative parents and craving for just some sense of normalcy and order in her weird little world, she decided that sex for her would be something special. Not given to anybody, like her parents seemed to be doing, just to the right guy.  
  
When her parents were killed, Emma had just begun to discover her burgeoning powers. She was 14 and had been in history class when the principal tapped on the glass at the door. He walked gravely into the schoolroom and whispered something to her teacher. Both of them looked at her awkwardly, and she knew something terrible had happened. When they finally told her, she was so stunned she didn't cry for two whole days. Even if her parents had been absent, being involved so totally with each other and their little lives, she did genuinely love them.  
  
It was so ironic, the way they were killed. Having shunned cars their entire lives, they relied on public transport like buses and subways. That particular day, they were at the bus stop waiting for their ride, when a drunk driver suddenly swerved into them in his twenty-ton truck. They were killed in an instant. It was a tragedy that drew the front page of the newspapers.  
  
Emma suddenly found herself famous. Well, for a little while.  
  
When she finally shed the tears she couldn't shed earlier at their funeral, which was organized by her parents' friends, she noticed a elderly woman at the back of the room. She looked out of place at the cheap funeral parlor, which was all they could afford since her parents and their friends were perpetually in debt. Gerdie, her mother's best friend and sometime lover, was looking flustered as she ushered Emma to meet the woman.  
  
'Emma, this is your grandmother.'  
  
For the first time, Emma raised her eyes to look at her maternal grandmother, who was the spitting image of what her mother would like if only she had been allowed to grow older. With a big difference. Emma's grandmother wore a constant disapproving look, like the butter wouldn't melt in her mouth. Emma's mother had never looked disapproving, unless someone in the room was eating meat or being pro-Republican, the latter being the worst thing anyone could ever be in her book.  
  
She was whisked off to stay with Mam, which was what she was required to call her grandmother. All she packed were her belongings, since they had to sell everything off just to pay her parents' debts, or so Mam claimed. 'It's unbelievable what your father has gotten into,' Mam would say in a huff. Mam blamed her father for everything that happened to her mother: the lifestyle, the vegetarianism (as if that was a crime), the drugs, the lack of inhibition. Even the accident. 'If he hadn't met her, she would still be alive today, properly married.' Emma could sense Mam was in a way relieved her wayward daughter had died. It saved her the interminable embarrassment of having to explain again and again to her friends what Emma's mother was up to.  
  
And what friends Mam had. Mam was what Emma's mother would call 'snobbery made flesh', very New England, tea in china cups and lace doilies sort of uppity. Man's husband, Emma's grandfather, had died, leaving a comfortable estate, replete with a nice country house with 11 bedrooms, a lake and a boathouse. There was a housekeeper and a gardener. Emma would have never believed her mother grew up in this sort of environment.  
  
Or maybe she could. The household was so proper it was oppressive. No wonder her mother, such a free spirit, had longed to break away.  
  
Besides Mam and the hired help, there were other people living in the house. Mam had a niece, Dora, who was widowed and had a son who was away at college called Rupert. Since her mother was an only child, they were the closest living relatives Emma now had. Especially since no one from her father's side turned up to claim her.  
  
From day one, she could tell they didn't approve of her. Her powers were waxing on and off and she could read them in bits and flashes, and in those days she pretty much read everyone - in that sense, she had about as much inhibition as her mother. Most of what they didn't approve of was derived from her bastard birth, the drugs her mother must have had been on when she was conceived ('I wonder if she's addled' Aunt Dora remarked to Mam when she thought Emma wasn't listening). And the fact she carried half her father's genes. ('And we all know what was in them,' Aunt Dora rolled her eyes).  
  
'They wouldn't have approved of me,' Brennan interjected.  
  
'Not many normal people would, Brennan,' she said. 'Now hush and listen.'  
  
Mam and Dora enrolled her in an all girls' boarding school right away, which was as religious as it was uppity. They did this with a haste Emma found admirable, signing up all the forms and leaving her at the doorstep with her suitcase, almost driving off without looking back. She didn't have to read them to know they wanted to be rid of her. She was a bee in their tidy, white-laced household bonnet, a reminder of past transgressions her mother had committed. They couldn't wait to get out of her contamination zone. They probably thought life at the boarding school would scrub her past clean before it got too smudgy from her errant genetics, and the sooner it scrubbed her, the better.  
  
It wasn't as though they were unkind in any way. They tolerated her well enough. They fed her well and clothed her, and were generally polite to her in a do-good, 'what to do, she's stuck with us because of her mother' kind of way. Even their friends looked at her sympathetically, like they were pitying the poor relative.  
  
Life at the boarding school was strict, but at least they were out of her hair. She was tired of being treated like an amoeba. And she was so lonely at the country house. Here at least she lived with 5 other girls at a dorm. Life was very orderly, very routine which was the way she liked it. She had to get up at 6.30 to say her prayers. Breakfast was at 7. Classes started at 8.  
  
The nuns were strict and very proper, and they reinforced sexual non- behavior in a way only nuns could. It was not proper for a young girl to think about sex, they iterated. All men only wanted one thing. It was only proper for girls to have sex only after they were married, and the purpose of the sexual union was solely for procreation. For people who never had sex, Emma decided, they sure talked a lot about sex.  
  
In school, she sharpened her powers by practicing them. They were still wonky, she couldn't really control them, but at least she found out that Sister Kathleen, the math teacher, had a stash of whiskey under her bed. And that Sister Pat wasn't really a virgin, she was a reformed bordello owner who had decided to give up her past life. And that Margery Jones, her dorm mate who claimed she wanted to be a saint and prayed five times a day to prove it, actually crept out twice a month to make out with the gardener.  
  
Emma had decided from day one she wasn't going to tell anyone about her powers. She didn't want them to make her more of an outcast than she already was.  
  
Life went on, and she was surprised to find herself adapting quite well to it. Then came the holidays, and she found herself dreading her return to Mam and Dora. But she had to anyway, there was nowhere she could go, and she sighed as she packed her bags.  
  
She had a surprise though when she came home. Rupert had returned from Princeton. He was her second cousin, Ivy League and snotty; much more so than her grandmother and aunt because he was young and his corners still hadn't rubbed off. He was a pale blond with milky brown eyes, the color of tea, and he would have looked quite nice had he not been so serious. He had the fifth best grades in his undergraduate class and was on his way to reading law at Harvard, Aunt Dora claimed proudly.  
  
In the beginning, he was pretentious, arrogant and generally behaved like a boor to her. No doubt he had heard stories of the wild cousin and the offspring from the 'unmentionables'.  
  
She played a lot of mind tricks on him that summer. Like making him nurse an urgent wish to run to the bathroom while they were out boating on the lake together. Or making him believe he was not wearing underwear during dinner with a very severe Mam and Dora. Despite his snootiness, he wasn't a bad person. By the end of summer, he had come down many notches where she was concerned and she had loosened up to even smile a little around him. He had accepted her, maybe not as an equal, but as someone who was not half-bad.  
  
'Even if you don't talk that much and you're pretty much into yourself,' he said. He swatted her head. 'But you're all right, Emma.' He smiled at her and she decided she could like him. In fact, like him a whole lot. Out of the whole household, he was the only one who treated her decent- like. And even if she couldn't open up to fully talk to him, she sensed he would at least listen.  
  
They both returned to their respective schools after that. It was one whole summer before they saw each other again.  
  
And when they did, he was quite taken aback. She had grown a two whole inches, her puberty was fully kicking in. She had grown her red hair long and had just turned 16. 'My goodness, Emma.' (He did after all come from a family who didn't allow him to take the name of God in vain.) 'You've grown. You look.....different.'  
  
She was pleased. He looked different too. He would never be drop dead good-looking, but he wasn't homey either. And he did have pleasant features that did not resemble her pinch-faced cousin aunt. There was an adult air about him, he had graduated, and when she took a reading off him, she could tell the looks he gave her were that of admiration. He was looking at her as a woman, and coming from an all girls' school, she would remember him as the first man to do so.  
  
That summer they threw a party for his graduation and his acceptance to read law at Harvard. All Mam's friends came, and they brought their sons and grandsons. For her party dress, they gave her an allowance to select something nice, so she chose a light green pastel that brought out her eyes an which had plenty of feminine pleats in it. If she would allow herself to say so, she looked very nice and grown-up in it.  
  
The reaction she drew from Rupert was unexpected. When she appeared on the stairs, richer with coral lipstick, pale pink eye shadow and a green filigree necklace, he couldn't stop looking at her. 'My word, Emma,' he breathed. 'You're beautiful.' He wasn't the only one who thought so. All the other young men were looking at her as well. She felt giddy with pleasure and femininity.  
  
She was never in shortage of dance partners that night, or guys who wanted to talk to her, or pour her a drink, or get her some tidbit. In particular, Rupert. A girl could get used to this., she thought. He was attentive and caring, and when it was his turn to dance with her, he held her close, even possessively, his breath warming her neck. Once or twice, she caught the disapproving stare of Mam in their direction.  
  
It was around close to midnight when he whispered, 'Do you want to get out of here?' She was a little tipsy, she had drunk watered wine, and she said yes. He led her out to the boathouse. The lake was calm, and the boats were bobbing slightly in the mild summer wind. He refused to turn the light switch on, saying 'I've got a surprise for you. It's better given in the dark.' And he kissed her - her first kiss! - right on the lips.  
  
It felt strange. Was this what kissing was about, this locking of lips? She waited for bells to peal and emotions to rush in her head, like all the romance novels said they would. But nothing happened. She was vaguely disappointed.  
  
But now he was kissing her again, more roughly and with greater urgency. 'I want you, Emma,' he said throatily. He was groping her green dress and fumbling for her zipper. It's coming, she thought, the big S word. This would be special. Was he the ONE for her? She decided he had to be, they had known each other for a while and liked each other. It was worth a try. Only she wished he wasn't quite so rough. He was groping her soft skin everywhere, and wherever he touched her, it hurt. But maybe it's like this, she thought. It gets better when I get used to it.  
  
He unbuttoned his pants, poised himself on top of her and attempted to push himself in. The pain was excruciating, she felt as though her body was tearing apart. 'No,' she cried. 'Stop.' It hurt too much. Down there, her nether regions were throbbing and even though he had not penetrated, she felt as though something were torn.  
  
'But it always hurts the first time, Emma,' he said, sounding a little pissed. And attempted again. Once more, the pain electrified her. 'No,' she said, pushing him away and sitting herself up. 'It's not supposed to be this way.'  
  
They waited for a while, and tried to do it several times more. Each time, she cried out and pushed him away.  
  
'You don't think there's something wrong with you, is there?' he asked. 'Maybe you ought to go see a doctor or something.'  
  
'I don't know,' she said miserably.  
  
They were still in a state of undress and talking about it when a switch was suddenly thrown on. Light flooded the boathouse. Mam was standing there, her face looking like thunder. Oh boy, Emma thought, now I've screwed up real bad. She threw out a reading to her grandmother, met with an image of lightning and axes, and decided it was best to keep mum for a while. Or maybe forever.  
  
They were all disappointed in her. Between them, Mam and Dora undressed her, made her get into a hot bath, and scrubbed her clean. It was the wee hours of the morning, and Dora kept saying, 'I knew it, I knew it. It's those genes, she can't help herself. She's turning slutty, like her mother.' She didn't think it was fair. Rupert was an active party in all this and they acted as though it was all her fault. But they wouldn't hear it. 'Bad blood,' Dora pronounced triumphantly. Mam just looked sad.  
  
They spent the better part of two weeks discussing her. As for Rupert, they bundled him away the very next day after the party. Sent him on a crash European tour. She didn't even have a chance to say goodbye, they had locked her up in her bedroom. As for him, he didn't even turn to look at her window while the cab drove him away.  
  
At the end of it, they had decided she couldn't live with them anymore. Couldn't have her around, tempting poor Rupert, who was going to be a lawyer. They had plans for him. He was going to be married to a blue blood, and they couldn't have him chalking up too much of a past. Especially with a second cousin. It raised too many hairs with the other blue bloods, even if they did it in private.  
  
'Don't worry,' Dora said. 'We're going to make sure you're well taken care of.' They spent the next two weeks on the phone, and again, she had to admire their haste. In the end, they had found a foster family to take her in on the entire side of the continent.  
  
She wasn't that sorry. Although they were blood relatives, she had never belonged anyway. They wouldn't miss her. In fact, this was their chance to get rid of her, for real. They were so gleeful they almost pounced on it.  
  
So it was foster care after that for her. And further foster care, all paid for by the considerable resources of her grandmother and cousin aunt. She got to go to a normal school again. Even made normal friends, if you could call someone like Michelle Bigelow normal.  
  
Much later, when she was eighteen, she tried to have sex again but to no avail. This time, he couldn't even get in. The same problem had cropped up. White-hot searing pain, more pain than she would have thought possible. She wondered if it was because she was a tele-empath. All sensations seemed to be magnified for her.  
  
Finally, she went to a gynecologist. He examined her with great care because she told him she was a virgin. 'You might have just a little problem,' he said. 'Your opening is just a little small. I can make a small incision, or I could give you some dilators and you can progressively dilate yourself. That can account for some of the pain. But only a gragment. The rest of it is in your head. You're scared because you had a bad experience, and that seems to cause a painful clenching of your vaginal muscles.'  
  
'What can I do?' She dreaded the answer. She was doomed to remain a virgin her entire life.  
  
'Maybe you're not doing it with the right people,' the doctor said. 'You need someone very patient, willing to give you plenty of stimulation. Then maybe you won't have vaginismus.' ('It's called vaginismus?' she asked. 'Yes.' He replied. Oh great, she thought, they even have a name for my condition. They made it sound like some sort of yeast.) Besides you're still young. There will be plenty of men for you to attempt it with. Remember, somebody very very patient. And willing to wait.'  
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX  
  
'So that's it really,' she finished lamely. 'I know it sounds ridiculous, the story of my sex life. But I have problems and I don't know what to do about them.'  
  
He was silent for about a minute. Then 'Boy, no wonder you're so uptight.'  
  
Tears sprang into her eyes. 'Brennan!' She clouted him on the head. 'It is a problem for me and I don't want you making fun of it! I knew I shouldn't have told you.'  
  
He grabbed her hands. 'Hey, I'm sorry, I didn't mean it. It just came out.' He looked apologetic. 'I mean I understand about your problem. I'm just trying to absorb it. Just give me time to think about what to do next.'  
  
Another pause. She wasn't sure what he quite meant. He was looking away at nothing in particular, a slight frown as though he was deep in thought. To her amazement, she noticed he was still tumescent. In the softly glowing yellow lamplight, he was quite a sight. Did the guy never abate? Oh, most women would have loved that. Not her though.  
  
'Brennan?' She touched him on the shoulder.  
  
'Hmmm?'  
  
'It's not really your problem. It's mine. You were just trying to help me, and I found out I'm not fully ready, that's all. It doesn't stop me from...' She swallowed, '....wanting it to happen so bad. But not right now.'  
  
She held her breath as he turned to gaze at her. He smiled. His hand rose to stroke her cheek.  
  
'It is our problem.' She was surprised when he said the word 'our.' 'We're best friends and friends see each other through on things. I'm not doing to ditch you on this if you're still okay with it.'  
  
'What?"  
  
'I mean,' he said quietly, 'I'm going to see this through for the both of us. Not tonight. You've been through a lot. But I have a plan.'  
  
'A plan?' She couldn't believe what she was hearing. 'Brennan, this is not one of your commando missions. My hormones and anatomical problems don't follow plans.'  
  
'There is a plan for everything.' He grinned and darted up to kiss her on the lips. She could still taste herself on them. 'Don't you trust me? Aren't I your best friend?'  
  
She had to admit that he was. Ever since the day she met him, he had been there for her. They had made a connection, and this surprised her because he was not a tele-empath. Usually birds of a feather in the mutant world flocked together. But Brennan...it was almost as if they were destined to be best friends. Or more? It was too painful to think of that right now, not to mention downright distracting, with the two of them naked in bed and all.  
  
'Okay. I'll trust you.' She massaged her limbs, suddenly feeling cold. 'Just don't hurt me too much okay?' She meant that in more than just one way, but he wasn't enough of empath to sense that.  
  
'Okay.' He was looking down at himself in chagrin, shaking his head ruefully. 'All dressed up and no place to go.'  
  
She wondered, just wondered, if she dared. She had never done it before. 'Can I...' she hesitated, and plunged. 'Can I help you with that? I mean..... you know, like, what men do when they're on their own?'  
  
He was grinning teasingly. 'Do you know how?'  
  
'No, not really.' Her words came out in a rush and she felt her cheeks burning. 'But...I've read about it and it can't be too difficult, right?'  
  
'Reading about it and the real thing are two distinct experiences. But I think you already know that.'  
  
With that slightly amused expression on his face, he took her hand anyway and guided her there. She circled him timidly, he was so huge that that her fingers would not meet. 'Are you going to take it off?' she asked about the condom. 'No,' he replied. 'Leave it on.' And proceeded to clasp his own hand over hers. 'You can't be too gentle with me, it takes me some time.' And showed her how to do it, back and forth, rhythmic stroking gestures. She hoped she wasn't hurting him. The rhythm grew more frenetic. He was breathing harder, sinking his head back into the pillow, closing his eyes, arching his back. Applying pressure to her hand - she didn't realize it took so much strength to do that, because it had gone on for a while and her forearm was aching; and she was grateful he was helping because she sure didn't have the strength to do it alone.  
  
'Kiss me,' he whispered, fluttering his eyes open for a second. And she did, lips locking, wetly open-mouthed, his tongue reaching down her throat; such passion for a best friend. Such deep, deep kissing, as unnerving as raw sex. He finally convulsed once, twice, then lay back sighing. Basking in the afterglow.  
  
It was a nice feeling, she thought, to be able to give him pleasure like that.  
  
'Thanks.' He pecked her on the cheek, friendly like, and got up. 'Boy what a mess. That's why I always use this back home. Beats having to clean up.'  
  
'You always do this back home?'  
  
He gave her a look. 'It's a guy thing, and don't tell me you girls don't do it either' and strode to the bathroom. She wanted to laugh. He returned later and tucked them both in comfortably, her lying in the crook of his arm and laying her hand on his chest. Mmmmm. She could get used to this. He was so warm and protective, in his arms she felt safe, enriched and very, very loved. (Even though she knew he was just a friend). She wanted to kiss him good night but when she looked up, he was already fast asleep.  
  
When she woke up, her com ring was tingling. She opened her sleep- encrusted eyes, there was a bright glow of sunlight framing the curtains - Oh gosh, it's late, she was thinking. She sat up squinting, slightly disorientated for a while where the heck was she? and remembered some vivid fragments from the night, nothing fully coherent. Oh drat. She had forgotten to report in.  
  
She activated the voice mode on her com ring. A female voice was at the other end. 'Emma? Emma, are you all right?'  
  
Given the nature of their jobs, it was an unwritten rule they had to call in by 10.30 in the morning if they were having a night away, just in case they were captured or hurt or something. And if they were uncontactable, somebody would be mobilized to go find them. It suited them fine most of the time, though Brennan perennially missed datelines 'A saner hour would be 11.30,' he argued .  
  
She looked at her watch. It was 12.30. Oh God. 'Shalimar?'  
  
'Emma, are you okay? When you didn't call in, we got worried.' Her blonde friend sounded petulant on the other side. 'You always call in.'  
  
More like she never had a night out, so there was no need to call in. 'Sorry, I forgot. But I'm okay. I'll come home shortly.' She noted Brennan's com ring on the side table, that dratted man, he had taken his off. Typical irresponsibility.  
  
There was a pause on the other side. Then there was Shalimar's voice, breaking, like she had all her dreams and hopes pinned into that com ring and she didn't really want to hear the answer because it would dash her heart to pieces.  
  
'Emma....' There was a little choke in there. 'Is Brennan with you?'  
  
TBC. 


	5. Chapter 5

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters, except for my own. The rest belong to Tribune Entertainment.  
  
Don't forget, please R & R to keep me going. I just found out I have great difficulty in writing sex scenes :) it's almost like a mental block. But when it comes to the rest, the narrative just runs. It's not going to stop me from trying though. To Ace: Brennan is hot, isn't he? I have no problems when it comes to writing Brennan g. To all B/S shippers: I'm a B/S shipper myself, but it doesn't mean I want them to be together in this story. I can much more identify with Emma as a character. But keep reading please. There are some curveballs ahead.  
  
And to Amanda, my beta-reader. Thanks so much for commenting on my structure so that I can improve. And what a great job you did beta- reading.....the dissection details were incredible.  
  
Rated PG-13. R at the end for adult themes.  
  
Chapter 5  
  
Emma's heart began to pound. Shalimar's voice repeated itself, 'Emma?'  
  
There was a dreadful silence. If she wasn't awake before, she was very, very wide awake now. Damn, she didn't count on this happening, but she had overslept and so had he. She also had not the foresight to ask for a morning call, the events of the night were too overwhelming; nor did she carry one of those cellphones which had those musical alarms programmed in. She supposed Brennan had a cellphone - it was like his little black book, he needed one to keep all his dates in check - but of course he would never program it to wake him. Brennan needed his beauty sleep like no other, to mobilize his growth hormones for bodybuilding, or so he said.  
  
` Worse yet, she hadn't prepared a story. It was like being caught at the Oscars without a two-paged speech. You thought someone like Nicole Kidman or Meryl Streep was going to win, and when they called your name instead, you choked yourself by swallowing your sweet down the wrong hole. She felt like that now.  
  
'Shalimar?' Her pulse was racing. She had to say something. Letting the silence run too long was as sure as an admission of guilt.  
  
'Emma? Are you okay?'  
  
'Um...yeah.' Emma rubbed her eyes and shook herself. Oh think, she pleaded. 'I'm just having a hangover, that's all. I..um...had a little bit too much to drink last night....and I, er...'  
  
'Too much to drink?' Shalimar's voice registered incredulity. 'You?'  
  
'Yeah.' Emma allowed just a hint of irritation to creep through. 'I can drink just like anyone else. And get drunk too. I'm not some..teetotaler.' She said this last bit indignantly.  
  
'Sorry.' Shalimar sounded sheepish. And then, in a more tentative tone, as though she dreaded to hear the answer. 'Did anything....uh, well you know...like' Emma heard a low laugh, very flustered (which was really unlike Shalimar because normally her blonde friend was so confident of herself), '.......happen?'  
  
'Happen?' Emma repeated. She was beginning to sound like a broken record. 'Oh no....I uh, fell asleep and now I have this dreadful splitting headache that's hurting me real bad (Great, she thought, now she was having verbal diarrhoea, the words were gushing out and she hoped they made sense because she had no idea what she was saying) and I....uh......well, you see we were both smashed last night and we thought it wouldn't be a good idea to drive home in our....well, condition. So we just stayed over at a motel.....'  
  
'A motel?' She could swear Shalimar's ears pricked up at that.  
  
'Well, yeah....and....' Perhaps it would be best to go on the offensive. Now her head was really hurting. '....nobody picked me up, if that's what you're asking.'  
  
That is so bad, bad, Emma, she quietly scolded herself. Why do you always want to protect her? Always the doormat, always the faded water lily, doomed to remain in the background.  
  
Or maybe you want to protect her because she's always protected you, and you love her. Just like she loves you. And it was incredible to think about it, but as beautiful and fiercely independent as Shalimar was, she was just a little girl standing naked in the rain, hurt and forlorn, when it comes to feelings. Needing to be protected all the same. And besides, he's not yours either, Emma. You both made it clear about that. This new thing, this big Plan of his, threw nothing out of the fray. When it was over, he was going to go back to being antsy around Shalimar again, and she around him.  
  
Now why did that make her so sad?  
  
'Oh I'm sorry, Emma. I didn't mean to imply anything.' Now Shalimar was sounding embarrassed. 'But you know, if you met someone, I'd always love to hear details....' Shalimar paused. Usually, as far as Emma knew, she craved details and would adopt a gushing, almost girlish 'Ooooo, tell me more about him' demeanor to tell you she's really interested and all ears. But not now. There was something else bothering Shal, and she had to get it out of the way. '......so where's Brennan?'  
  
Emma looked at Brennan sleeping next to her, his left arm flung over his face exposing his cute dragon tattoo on his underarm, the one that he said he got after achieving some street-fighting milestone , still dead to the world .  
  
'He's...um....downstairs, I think, in another room. He was pretty smashed as well. I don't know. I'll have to go check.'  
  
Damn, she was convincing. Never give too many details. People got suspicious when you gave too many details. She should have been an espionage agent.  
  
'That's okay, Emma.' Shalimar sounded relieved. 'Is he...uh....with someone?'  
  
What should she say? To say that he wasn't might be stretching it a little thin, given his recent track record. 'I don't know, but I can go check all the same.'  
  
'No, there's no need to.' Shalimar gave a nervous laugh. 'Knowing Brennan, it would probably be some floozy he picked up last night. It's all right, just come back when you're feeling better okay?'  
  
Emma felt a stab of annoyance at her friend. Oh, you can handle him being with faceless floozies that would be all sex and thighs and heat, purely physical with no emotions attached. But you can't handle him being with me, right? Why? Because I'm real? Did you know that every single one of them floozies have been blondes the past few months? He's so into you, you know it and you don't even want to do something about it. Damn you.  
  
Aloud, she said, 'Okay. Thanks for caring.' And switched off, feeling angry and frustrated. Damn everyone. It was not their fault though. It was hers. All her life....what a doormat. Please wipe your feet on my feelings, thank you, you don't even have to scrape the mud off. And all this was compounded by the fact that she needed to urgently visit the bathroom.  
  
She shook Brennan, feeling far from romantic. 'Come on, sleepyhead. Wake up. Blondie's asking for you.'  
  
*  
  
*  
  
*  
  
*  
  
Several days went on, and so did the usual stuff. Practicing at the dojo, surfing the net, cleaning up her room (Shalimar always said she was a neat freak), reading the latest John Grisham novel, cooking up a new teriyaki chicken recipe for the Japanese meals they always ate. Shalimar did not ask her more about her night other than a teasing 'So, what was it like getting drunk?' 'Painful,' she replied. And they had laughed about it and gone to Shalimar's room to try out Shal's new halter top, which she claimed came from Paris and was a steal at 50% off. Shalimar was always a sucker for discounts.  
  
Brennan and Shalimar were still circling each other like flies. It would have been amusing to watch them, had it not been a little painful.  
  
'Going out tonight, Brennan?' Shal would say when they were practicing a new move at the dojo. She flung a targeted forearm aimed at his face, which he easily deflected.  
  
Their eyes clashed. 'No,' Brennan said, returning a counterstrike by swooping low with his leg, hoping to unbalance Shalimar.  
  
The feral leaped before he could make contact, a marvelous pirouette high up in the air. She somersaulted once and landed behind him. Again, the extended fist to the kidney area, which Brennan averted by flinging himself sideways and rolling away. He picked himself up quickly with Brennan, it was always the composure, he always had to appear graceful and adopted a fighting stance.  
  
'But I might go out later this afternoon,' he grinned.  
  
Shal grinned back. 'Really? Some hot date?'  
  
Brennan went on the offensive this time, executing a series of high kicks, one of them catching Shalimar on the jaw. 'Ouch,' she said.  
  
'Sorry. But not everything I do has to be a hot date, Shal.'  
  
Spinning, she caught him in a sensitive area with a low kick. Now he bent over double, nursing himself. His expression was one of agony. 'Ow ow ow, that was dirty, Shal.'  
  
She smirked. 'Since you're not going out on a hot date, I figured you won't be needing those.'  
  
Emma, who was watching them spar while waiting for her turn with Jesse, had to cover her mouth to keep the laughter from spilling out. Shalimar did look penitent as she bent down to offer her hand to Brennan. 'I'm sorry, Bren. I didn't mean it.'  
  
'You don't fool me,' he growled, taking her hand anyway.  
  
Things were so normal that Emma was beginning to wonder if the other night was all a dream, or if he had completely forgotten about The Plan. Not that he confided in her about what The Plan was. She had to confess there was a budding excitement churning within her, an expectation that something.. well, different....was going to happen. Brennan was exciting that way. And being around him made life exciting. In a mundane, best friend sort of way, of course, she checked herself hastily.  
  
That night, she took a shower. A long, hot one, washing her hair with the new improved Pantene shampoo, the one they said was guaranteed to make all hair strong and silky. When she came out, one towel wrapped around her and using another to vigorously rub her hair dry, he materialized in front of her like some big sudden shadow, startling her.  
  
'Oh god, Brennan.' She took a step back, palpitations rising. 'You scared me.' She looked at him crossly. 'How did you get into my room anyway? I locked the door.'  
  
He smirked. 'I'm an ex-thief, remember.' He sat down on her bed. 'I got you a present.'  
  
She wondered if she should have been mortified, him being in her room while she was naked and wrapped up only in a wooly towel (and looking like a dripping wet rat with no make-up on). And decided he had seen it all anyway, just like she had seen everything he had to offer. So she sat down beside him.  
  
'Thanks, but it's not my birthday yet.'  
  
'I know. Let's call it a little pre-birthday present.' He handed her a gift-wrapped package. He smiled at her in encouragement, and she was pleased to note the pleasure on his face. He likes doing this stuff, it occurred to her, and that thought was very pleasant.  
  
She opened it, taking care not to tear the wrapping ( 'Oh Emma', Shalimar would have said. 'Just yank it off already.' ) Inside was a lovely hardcover edition of 'A Thousand and One Nights.' The Arabian fairytale.  
  
'Oh, it's lovely!' she exclaimed. 'I love these stories.' She looked at him questioningly. 'Does it have any special meaning?'  
  
He took the book away from her gently, smiling. 'Well, let's just say it's all part of The Plan.' He leaned over and kissed her lips. So softly. She closed her eyes, imbibing him. He tugged at her towel, loosening it and making it fall onto the bed in a crumpled sigh.  
  
'And The Plan is......?' She opened her eyes again to watch him take his clothes off. No matter how many times she would see him do this, she was sure she would never tire of it.  
  
He laid her down on the bed, kissing her intermittently. On her lips, on her neck, on her wet hair. 'Well, The Plan is I loosen you up....' he tapped her head. 'Inside here. That's where the problem mostly is, isn't it? And then the rest will come naturally.'  
  
'And how would you loosen me up?' She kissed him back. Oh, he was so nice and warm. 'And how would you know when I've loosened up?'  
  
He grinned at her, a cocky grin that was so Brennan. 'I'll know. I'll know when you are ready.'  
  
'And how would you claim to know me so well?' Stupid question. She might as well take it back. He knew all women well. He knew their anatomies in and out.  
  
He chose to ignore it. 'Let's put it this way. I'm going to play Scheherezade, just like in the book. And I'm going to tell you bedtime stories. As long as it takes. Some of these stories are going to have sex in them, and when I tell you about the sex bits, I want you to connect with me. In my head.'  
  
She looked at him in astonishment. He was giving her permission to enter his mind.  
  
'You're an empath, aren't you?' He went on. 'Well, I'm going to let you see, and feel, how pleasurable sexual intercourse can be. Remember, it's all in your mind.'  
  
Whatever words she had planned to say froze right in her throat.  
  
'But...but....' she stammered. 'It's different for a man. I mean.....sex feels different if you are a man.'  
  
'And no more or less pleasurable. In your case, it's better you have my memories than your own, then maybe you'll open up to the possibility that sex can be very, very exciting and sensual. And besides,' he grinned, 'don't you want to know how it feels like on the other side?'  
  
I already know, she thought, a little bit of it. Though she would never tell him. It was when he was with Lorna Templeton, the scorpion feral who seduced him against his will with her toxic pheromones. Emma had tried to get a hit off him when he didn't report back, and had entered his mind when he was in the throes of an orgasm. It was ....indescribable and so personal, and she had blushed and exited right away, her senses all tingling and glowing, leaving an indelible memory.  
  
It was best not to bring it up. He was touchy when it came to the subject of Lorna. He never wanted to talk about it, and when Adam tried to skirt the subject, he always came up with a sarcastic quip. It was because, she surmised, it was actually a rape. And Brennan was a man who never wanted to admit he could be raped. The funny thing was, Emma thought, Lorna cared for him (was 'love' too strong a word to use? Emma doubted Lorna had any capacity for 'loving') in her own peculiar kind of way. Even after she tried to kill him.  
  
Aloud she said, 'Okay, I'm game.' And smiled at him. She truly was enjoying this nearness, being with him and everything. And his proposal was....well, intoxicating to say the least.  
  
'Okay.' He was as eager as a schoolboy. She had to laugh at that. 'First story. What would you like to hear about?'  
  
'Well,' she was sure he had hundreds of experiences he could draw from. 'I had always been curious about your past. You talk about it now and then, but they're just hints. We've been friends for pretty long. I guess I'm just curious, that's all.'  
  
They were tucked snugly under the covers, and their bare legs were intertwining beneath the sheets. He took her hand, looking into her eyes deeply, and drew a deep breath. 'Okay, let me tell you my story.'  
  
*  
  
*  
  
*  
  
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX  
  
Unlike Emma, Brennan Mulwray's problems began way before puberty. He lived with his mother in a run-down trailer park, and if anyone had told him he was a poverty-stricken white trash case study, he would have been surprised. Because it never occurred to him life could be any different. After all, he figured at the age of 4, life was what you made it, and it didn't matter if you were poor or middle-classed or demi-semi upper classed, it was how much fun you got out of it.  
  
That was his recurring credo in life and he certainly chalked up a lot of mileage on it.  
  
'I think it was around 5 that I began making sparks.' He told Emma. Little coils around his fingers that were too tiny to be called tesla. At first his mom thought he had rubbed on too much carpet or something, and went about a big spree of vacuuming and upholstering (with second hand garage sale furniture, mind you, they were after all very poor).  
  
But as the coils grew bigger and he started to set some things on fire - including her rug, his bed and the flea-bitten cat that prowled around the trailer yard looking for scraps - she made the connection ('Oh...') to the rehabilitation treatments she had when she was pregnant with him. What was that facility called again? Yes, Genomex.  
  
Gad. No wonder they were so eager to offer free treatment.  
  
'We shouldn't tell anyone about it, Brennie,' she made up her mind early on. 'Wouldn't want them to take you away and do, like, experiments on you. And then I'll never see you again.' She was smart that way, his mom.  
  
He loved his mom. She worked a series of jobs to keep them afloat, with double and sometimes triple shifts. She did waitressing and factory shifts, and she was pretty in a tired, ravaged-by-life Linda Hamilton sort of way. His dad had died in the war (never having returned from the POW camps), Brennan had never met him, and his mum had never been educated.  
  
'But it doesn't mean that you shouldn't be either,' she said. And she made sure he went to kindergarten early. And then to grade school. And made him promise never ever to use his powers in front of anyone.  
  
He was tempted to, many times. They were just so cool. And when someone in class was particularly annoying, it made perfect sense to just, well....zap her with a joy buzzer that didn't even have to come in a box. Ditto for the teachers. But he had made a promise to his mom, and the very real threat ('They'll take you away from me') unnerved him more than any possible experiment would.  
  
Besides, he wasn't sure what the word 'experiments' meant. He just hoped it had nothing to with the ones he'd done on the frogs in school. And the roaches.  
  
He was happy, because he was really a simple kid and his needs weren't very complex. They had enough to eat and a place to sleep. And it was always fun to go to the dump site behind the trailer park and set the garbage on fire. And if the roaches got in the way.....oh well.  
  
'Sometimes, that's all we need in life,' his mom said, hugging him. Of course she didn't know about the garbage. And the roaches.  
  
'Boy, you started mischief-making early,' Emma said. 'And you haven't changed a bit.'  
  
Brennan grinned back. 'That's not the only thing I started early.'  
  
He liked to think that his mom was happy too, with just him for company. Oh course, in those days, he knew nothing about what women needed. When he picked up his mother's magazines like Cosmo and Redbook, they seemed to imply that women needed men. A lot, but they didn't want to admit it. Whole articles were written around this subject; about how to attract men, retain men and mould them into what you wanted. The idea was, he gathered, to get the men you desired without ever letting them know you desired them in the first place.  
  
This concept was very puzzling to him, and he spent whole days poring over it, trying to find the answer. He found it more fascinating than schoolwork, and sometimes (on a slow day), even more fascinating than zapping the roaches.  
  
He made up his mind that even if it killed him, he would unravel the mystery of women before he grew up. And before they could experiment on him.  
  
'I don't believe it,' Emma exclaimed. 'You got to be a woman expert by reading Cosmo since you were seven?'  
  
'You mean you don't read Cosmo?' he challenged.   
  
Anyhow, apparently his mother had needs too because she started going out with this guy she met at the diner where she worked. She would return all glowing and radiant like he had never seen her before. She started to neglect him a little, leaving TV dinners for him instead of home-cooked stuff. Forgetting to take in his laundry from the clothes-line. He had always been a latch-key kid, making his own sandwiches for lunch before school and coming home by himself to an empty trailer to watch the black- and-white TV they had and (not) do his homework. But now it seemed he was required to be even more latch-key than usual.  
  
He began to resent this intrusion in their lives. There were even times she returned at one or two in the morning.  
  
'Who is he?' he wanted to know. 'Why haven't you brought him to see me?'  
  
His mother seemed fidgety whenever he asked her this. 'Soon, Brennie. You'll meet him soon.'  
  
He was to find out she hadn't even told the guy she had an eight year old son. Much later, when he was all grown up and dissecting this, he understood that his mother was at a stage where she needed a man so badly that it had almost suffocated her.  
  
'It's like, you know....nothing else mattered. My mom was only 26, single and she hadn't had a man for 8 years. She loved me, there was no doubt about that..... but it's one of those...' Brennan shook his head '...you know, guy things.'  
  
Emma nodded. She could identify. Oh yup, she could really identify with Brennan's mom.  
  
Finally, she set the date for them to meet. She held Brennan's hand. Her face was pinched and tight. He had never been truly perceptive (nor would he be in adult life), but it was obvious even to him that she had told the guy.  
  
Morosely, he wondered if it had gone well.  
  
She led him to the diner where she worked, and sat him down at the table. 'Wait here. I'll go to the kitchen and see if they can whip you up some burgers and fries.' She left, a nervous quickness to her steps and the way she held her hands.  
  
As he waited for her, he noticed a shadow detach itself from a corner in the diner and walk over. It was a tall man. He wore a tan colored coat and loafers. His face was ruddy and he was smiling, but that was not what bothered Brennan. He couldn't put his finger to it, but somehow, the whole scene seemed wrong. Like, no one's face could be that red. And the smile, the smile was all wrong too. So was the angulation of the man's shadow against the table, and the tilt of his head.  
  
He had to grasp the edge of the table to keep himself from falling. Stark paranoia was menacing him from all angles, and he suddenly felt breathless.  
  
Then the man spoke:  
  
'You must be Brennan.'  
  
And the spell dissipated.  
  
When he didn't reply, the man spoke again. 'I'm Paul. I've heard so much about you from your mom.'  
  
With a shock, Brennan realized that this was his mom's boyfriend. And there was something funny about the way he materialized like that, out of the shadows...he must have seen them come in. And yet he had made no move to greet them....  
  
Looking back at the incident now, Brennan wondered if he had a bit of pre-cog. Or was it because he was an electrical mutant, and it was like the way he always seemed to sense a thunderstorm before it approached?  
  
He saw Paul looking at him, head half-cocked and interestedly. Still smiling.  
  
'I see you two have met,' a voice suddenly said. His mom was standing at the side, a plate of double burgers and a salad in her hand. Her face was strained and she was licking her lower lip in a gesture Brennan knew to be unconscious.  
  
'Of course, of course,' Paul said, getting up and giving his mom a kiss. Brennan observed this, Paul was holding his mom's arm just a little too tightly, and his other hand reached down to pat her behind.  
  
Brennan suddenly felt enraged.  
  
Still smiling, Paul sat down as though nothing had happened. And Brennan still wasn't sure if anything did indeed happen. They spent the rest of dinner talking inconsequentially about things. Paul asked him about school and games and what he liked to do in his spare time. Normal stuff. Taking a real interest in him.  
  
But he couldn't shake off the feeling of disquiet earlier. Maybe he was just jealous. That's it, he thought, I'm just jealous.  
  
Three months later, Paul married his mom. They did it at the town hall. Signed the papers and everything while Brennan waited outside on a bench. He didn't try to stop his mom, he was powerless to do so anyway. It was her windfall and he didn't want to rain on her parade. Besides, throughout the nesting period, Paul had been as nice as any future stepfather could be, taking him out to the community center to play basketball, then going for rootbeer and tacos.  
  
But he smiled too much, Brennan thought. Way too much, in that funny little twitch his mouth made. All curling up the sides like that.  
  
'It would be good for you to have a father figure in your life,' his mom said. Not that he would know what it was like, since he never knew his own father.  
  
Paul moved in to live with them in the trailer. He had no permanent abode, renting a room here and there. He was a salesman. To this day, Brennan had no idea what he sold., but he gathered it was a collection of things that varied from month to month.  
  
And like most nightmares, this one even had a date to its origins.  
  
Beneath the sheets, Emma was holding his hand a little too tightly. 'Oh no, Brennan...'  
  
He squeezed it back. 'It's okay. I can talk about it now.'   
  
One night, his mother was away working a night shift at the diner. She had called to say she left a casserole in the fridge. He was to finish it, clean up, do his homework and go to bed on his own. Paul was supposed to be away on a business trip.  
  
So Brennan read comic books until eleven since he was never keen on homework, and turned himself in. Since Paul came to live with them, he had been moved to a little cubicle by the kitchenette which used to be a storage area. There was enough space to put one mattress, and he also had a reading lamp that dangled from the ceiling. His mom had put up a cloth screen to give him privacy (though he figured it was more to give them privacy from him). Not that it mattered. The trailer was so small he couldn't help hearing them at night anyway.  
  
He must have fallen asleep, dreaming some senseless dream about how happy he had been when it had only been him and his mom. Because when he suddenly awoke, he felt cold hands groping him.  
  
He fluttered his eyelids open in fright. His first thought was that he hadn't bolted the door and his mom was going to be so mad at him. 'We don't exactly live in a good neighborhood, you know', she was always saying, 'so we have to take extra precautions.'. Now there was an intruder and he was going to take whatever little they had. And possibly kill him when he found out they had so little.  
  
Not if I can help it, Brennan thought. He wasn't exactly defenseless.  
  
But the hands were roaming down his body instead of strangling him outright, or even snuffing him. Touching him down there, squeezing....And a hungry mouth was forcing down on his own, a rough body mounting him, compressing his lungs out with its weight.....  
  
Brennan struggled in panic, and his fervor gave him strength. Clutching at the bedclothes, he tried to pull himself out from under the weight. He almost succeeded when a hand grabbed his leg, and another his neck. He kicked out blindly, felt gratified as it made contact and was about to charge up his energy to release a bolt when he heard his assailant curse.  
  
He froze. He had recognized the voice. Cluttered images jigsawed through his head, a touch of a hand here, a whirling scene of the diner turning topsy-turvy there.......he could almost not believe what he was hearing.  
  
Paul?  
  
The charge died in his hands.  
  
For one shocked moment, he couldn't move or even breathe. Then as his attacker grabbed him again, he came to his senses and clambered to clutch at the dangling lamp (he almost toppled over) and turn on the light switch.  
  
Light flooded the little cubicle. With a hand still holding his thigh, Paul's ruddy features grinned back at him. The other hand reached out to stroke his face.  
  
'Come on now, Brennie..Just lie down there. You'll like it, you'll see.'  
  
Brennan wasn't exactly sure what it was he was supposed to like, but he was certain it couldn't have been healthy. And that it was wrong. Seriously seriously wrong.  
  
'You stay away from me,' he said in a low voice. Inside, his synapses were connecting again, another electrical charge was building. Some self- preservation instinct had made him not want to tell Paul about his powers and his mother had respected that , and he wasn't so sure he wanted to use them now. But if he had to....  
  
Paul was still smiling. 'Pretty,' he said, still stroking Brennan's cheek. 'Pretty pretty boy.'  
  
'Touch me again and I will kill you.'  
  
Something in Brennan's voice made Paul pause. Or maybe it was something in his eyes. Whatever he was projecting, he wasn't conscious about it. But he noticed that the hair on Paul's forearms was standing on end. The air around them was so crisp it almost crackled.  
  
Paul withdrew. 'I'll get you next time. And if you tell your mom, I'll kill her.'  
  
He left, slamming the trailer door.  
  
Brennan spent the next few days in shivers and in shakes. Paul had no worries on that account. He was never going to tell his mom. It would hurt her in a way he couldn't even possibly imagine, but he knew it would be a hurt that wouldn't go away. Besides, the whole episode was too traumatizing to be experienced in his mind again. It was too intimate. Too degradingly humiliating.  
  
He begged his mom to leave Paul.  
  
'But why Brennie? He's so good to you. What is it? Did he hit you?'  
  
Brennan shook his head. He couldn't tell her.  
  
He spent the next few months in torture. Paul silently smirking, the three of them in the trailer at night. Looking at him with that look ('I'll get you yet.') Purposely rubbing by him in the cramped confines, stealing a touch here, a pat there. Always that smile. That extra ruddiness. He began to find excuses to stay away when Paul was there.  
  
'I'll be out with a friend.' He told his mom. Or 'I have to take a walk. A long one.'  
  
It got to the extent he was out almost every night.  
  
He begged his mom to send him to self-defense classes. 'Everyone's doing it,' he pleaded. And although she couldn't spare the extra money, he begged so hard that she gave in. Something told him not to rely on just his powers (maybe it was more of that precognition), that he had to be prepared for the day they failed him. And besides, there was no way he was letting Paul know about them. It would have kept the creep at bay, but Brennan knew he would have been sold to the labs soon after.  
  
His happy, sunny disposition had been reduced into a raw, frightened edginess.  
  
He had been so wrapped up in his own problems that he failed to notice the changes in his mother until it was too late. She would appear with a bruise on her lip. Maybe a cut above the eye. Scratches on her arms, or maybe more where he couldn't see them. She would attribute it to falling or snagging her lip on the clothes wire. No one believed her, it was quite a common thing where they stayed, and the families believed in 'letting domestic problems be'.  
  
Just like he wouldn't tell her, she wouldn't tell him either.  
  
She just shook her head when he asked her about it. 'No Brennie. It's nothing for you to be concerned about.'  
  
He believed however there was something else. Something that went beyond the normal patterns of abuse. Now and then, when he hugged her, she would wince. There was once when she was reaching for something, when he caught sight of her thigh....there was something that looked like a cigarette burn on it. He was horrified, and when he was about to call out, her skirt came down and obscured the apparition. And he was left wondering if it had been there in the first place.  
  
There were other things of course. Subtle things. Like her hollowed eyes. And the glazed look in them. Or the fact she seemed to bleed so much during her monthly cycles, he was counting the empty sanitary boxes she threw away.  
  
His mother was turning into something ghastly. He no longer recognized her. This realization filled him with a horror more abysmal than anything he had ever known. Especially when he realized that everything probably happened to her while he was out at night, staying away.  
  
Oh God, if he was the one responsible for killing her......  
  
He made a decision. If he had to be the strong one for both of them, then he had to do it. He had read about places that helped women like her. He just had to get her to one of them, and get them to come to her.  
  
Now.....if only she would back him up.  
  
He never had the chance to. One particular night, when he came home from defense class, the lights were blazing in the trailer and he heard whimpering, and raised voices, and then sobs. There was the sound of a blow, and then a thud. And silence.  
  
His heart was racing wildly in his chest. Oh God, he thought, I will kill him...I will kill him....If he has hurt her......  
  
His legs felt like jelly, but he made them run anyway. Somehow, he knew this night would be pivotal.  
  
'Mom?' His voice came out wobbly, and it dawned upon him how scared he was. Flinging open the door of the trailer, he caught a glimpse of her. She was lying on the floor, wearing a nightgown. Her arm was at an unnatural angle, and there was a stain spreading on the lower front of her dress, just above where her legs started.  
  
He did not know what that meant, but it couldn't have been good. His heart was pounding... mom mom mom....  
  
Then the scene shifted and he found the floor slamming up to meet him. It hit him on the head, and for a moment he was dazed. His ears were ringing.  
  
Somewhere, dimly, someone was saying, 'Well if it isn't the pansy boy. Told you I would kill her, didn't I?'  
  
But I didn't rat on you, he wanted to say weakly.  
  
He felt, rather than saw, a shadow over him. And another blow slamming into his face. Oh gosh...that hurt. Something metallic was trickling through his mouth. He ran his tongue around it. The taste of blood. His back tooth felt loose. In his ear, there was a moistness.  
  
Something within him between his mother's arm, the taste of his own blood in his mouth and the moistness cracked.  
  
He felt the power surge within him, his synapses overflowing. Every electron in his body rotating to form a single circuitry, even his blood was a conduit. Everything connecting to unleash something terrifying. He raised one limpid hand through his hazy veiled vision. And shot.  
  
To this day, he didn't know how much he had put into it. But when he was lucid again, the contorted body of Paul was lying against the counter of the kitchenette. He was immobile. His jaw hung slightly slack, and his chest was not moving. There was a burn mark on his neck....just one little burn mark where the current had entered and fried itself a path down to the ground.  
  
One little burn mark....and so fatal.  
  
Oh my God, he thought. I've killed my stepfather.  
  
TBC 


	6. Chapter 6

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters, except for my own. The rest belong to Tribune Entertainment. And I should point out that some of the backstory I've written here, as stated by my beta-reader Amanda, veers somewhat off course than what is suggested by the TV series itself. But since I'm playing god here with the characters...oh well....  
  
I also want to credit AliasJaneDoe for giving me the inspiration to write this story back in January, when we were discussing the Bren/Shal relationship. And to everyone who's been asking, there's a reason why Brennan's POV in the present is not given. It'll come up soon.  
  
Rated R upfront. PG-13 later.  
  
Chapter 6  
  
'Oh my God,' Emma gasped. 'That is such a sad, sad story. Oh Brennan.' She laid her hand on his cheek and stroked him. She felt tears coming to her eyes. 'I didn't know.'  
  
He had quietened down. 'No one does,' he said unemotionally.  
  
'And yet....' She felt her tears pool over and run down from the side of her eye onto the pillow. 'You told me.'  
  
After a pause, he said, 'Yeah. I guess I had to tell somebody someday.' He turned his head away from her abruptly. 'But it happened a long time ago.'  
  
They lay together for a little while, hands intertwined, in silence. She wondered if he was sorry he had told her. This storytelling idea of his, was it such a good idea after all? She squeezed his hand, wondering if he would let her in again.  
  
'So what happened next?' She said after what seemed like an interminably long time.  
  
He gave her a quick smile. 'That's for next time.' He kissed her, his good spirits returning a bit.  
  
'That's your idea? Leaving your stories in a cliffhanger?'  
  
'I learnt it from Scheherezade.'  
  
She hugged him, sensing he was feeling vulnerable right now, and refusing to admit it. And kissed him back. 'Thank you for confiding in me.' And kissed him again. Sensing he needed this, possibly more than she did tonight. Until they were both kissing each other urgently, and passionately; his lips and mouth everywhere, just like she remembered the last time.  
  
And it felt so very, very good.  
  
When he had brought her to rapture four times, and her loins were ripe and moist with heat, and she felt an overwhelming, wanton need for him to fill her deeply now, she thought, her mind swimming, now's the time; he stopped.  
  
'No intercourse,' he said, kissing her on the lips. 'Not yet.'  
  
She felt the rush draining out of her.  
  
Damn the man. Even his lovemaking was ending in a cliffhanger.  
  
'You're not ready,' he added, getting up and reaching for his clothes. 'The time will come.'  
  
She wanted to ask him to stay, for cuddling and for comfort, and perhaps she would fall asleep in his arms and dream a little. But the words died on her tongue when he said, 'Shalimar's prowling around. I'd better go back to my room before she gets suspicious. You wouldn't want her to find out, would you?'  
  
No, she thought, we wouldn't want that. Though more you than me now, as I don't really care anymore .......  
  
She watched him leave, and clutched his present against her chest.  
  
*  
  
*  
  
*  
  
*  
  
He surprised her again in the shower few days later. (What was it about this man and water?)  
  
'I got you another present,' he said triumphantly.  
  
'Brennan, you have to stop scaring me like this.' She was wet, dripping and naked. 'I might think you're a molester or something and blast you out cold. And you would have deserved it.'  
  
'I'll survive.' He held up a little box. It wasn't gift-wrapped this time. She noted that he was in his gym apparel, loose shorts and Nike tank top, and he looked flushed and sweaty. Perspiration had beaded through his apparel and was staining the front of his shirt. He had apparently been pumping out, because his arm and pectoral muscles were more sharply defined than ever. He was barefooted, and panting slightly.  
  
She wiped the water out of her eyes and took it. It was a bar of soap. Lavender scented. Very nice.  
  
'It's organic,' he explained. 'Just in case you're into those sort of things.' He wrested off his tank top and shorts - it was so swift, she didn't have time to note anything other than he was naked beneath - and stepped in with her. 'Let's take that shower, shall we?'  
  
'But I've already taken one,' she protested.  
  
'Not like this,' he promised, kissing her between her breasts. 'Mmmmm...you taste nice. So clean.'  
  
She didn't want to imagine what he would taste like right now.  
  
He slipped the bar of soap out, the scent wafting out stronger as it came in contact with the water. 'Let me bathe you. It's quite a nice experience, or so I've been told.'  
  
I'll bet, she thought. She wished he wouldn't keep shoving his other women in her face.  
  
She let him do whatever he pleased anyhow, closing her eyes and savoring the sensation of his soapy hands roaming all over her body. His caresses were so voluptuous. His palms making little circular teasing motions, kneading her breasts gently, trailing a wet path down her stomach and she shivered to the sides of her body.  
  
After a while, he knelt, using both hands to sculpt the firm lines of her legs, sweeping upward to her thighs, still avoiding her core. And cupping both her buttocks, he squeezed them with just the slightest bit of pressure until she gasped, the water from the shower running into her mouth.  
  
'Oh Brennan,' she moaned, as his soapy fingers delved into her clefts and her most secret recesses; it was quite a sensation, she'd always wondered what it felt like, and now it was better than she had ever imagined.  
  
'You're still very tight,' he whispered, withdrawing. 'You won't be ready, not yet.'  
  
Detaching the shower nozzle off its hook, he sprayed the soapsuds off her, fingering them off the hard to reach places. 'Have you ever done fun things with a shower nozzle?' he teased. And proceeded to show her how, opening her legs and letting her experience the full trickling blast of the shower. Alternating the motion of the jet in undulating waves, slowly.... then more rapidly, building it up into a watery frenzy until she was gasping and clutching at his shoulders in ecstasy.  
  
She had to give him marks for creativity.  
  
As his hungry mouth closed over hers, she offered, 'Let me bathe you.'  
  
She had never bathed a man before.  
  
Smiling, he gave her the soap and held his hands up in a 'do what you want to my body' surrender. Oh, she was going to enjoy this. She was surprising herself. She had come quite a long way, now that the initial inhibitions of first gropings and awkward fumblings were well behind them, and she was as comfortable with him as he was as comfortable with himself.  
  
Soaping her hands until she had worked out quite a foam (she remembered thinking it was very high quality soap), she now ran her hands over his chest. Exploring. The water was making his skin glisten. Very invitingly. She grabbed handfuls of his flesh, it was so taut that it kept slipping out of her hands, pinching his nipples ('Ow,' he said, slapping her hands. 'Do men feel anything there?' she asked playfully. 'Just as much as women,' he replied.') Stroking his washboard stomach, not a spare ounce of fat there, tracing the edges of his rectus muscles, the ones that gave him the six pack look.  
  
He flexed his biceps, 'Don't you think they're nice? I've been trying to get them like this like forever.'  
  
'I think you're vain.' She bit his right bicep gently, there was so much flesh there it filled her mouth completely. He had tilted his head back, his eyes closed in an expression of languor. His hair was dripping wet, and oh, he was so splendid looking. She soaped him further, sliding down his back - such firm muscles there - and his tight, tight buttocks. And his thighs....something about his thighs made her think erotic thoughts....  
  
Again, she wondered if she dared.  
  
'Brennan?' She knelt in front of him. 'I want to do something for you.'  
  
He opened his eyes and looked down at her, smiling. 'Are you sure?'  
  
'I'm not that much of a prude. Why does everyone always think that?'  
  
'Haven't the faintest idea.' He grinned. 'Okay seriously....only if you want to...'  
  
She had always wondered what it felt like, and now she knew. God, he was so huge. He tasted mostly....well, like flesh, with the mineral tang of tap water running all over it. She knew she wouldn't be able to get him fully in, but he didn't seem to mind. He was probably used to it.  
  
He had leaned against the tiled wall of the shower stall, breathing a little harder. 'Boy, you're good at this .....are you sure this is your first time?' She flushed a little pink at his praise, always pleased whenever she was able to give him a little bit of pleasure, since she was so hopeless at everything else. She felt his hands come around her head, entangling fingers in her hair, guiding her. 'Mmmmm.....just imagine it's one giant popsicle....' (She bit down on him) 'Ow! Gently, it's not a toy....'  
  
She knew he was reaching his peak when his hands left her head and began to grasp at the faucets in the wall, seeking purchase of some sort as his own ecstasy crescended. Squeezing them tightly, the temperature of the water began to vary, and it suddenly was very hot....  
  
'Emma...' He suddenly grasped at her hair and pushed her away. 'You don't have to do this.'  
  
She looked up at him wonderingly. 'You don't have to protect me, Brennan. I told you, I'm not that much of a prude.'  
  
'No no, It's not that. It's just that...' He looked away, then shook his head. 'Oh well, forget it.'  
  
'No, what?' She took his hands, pulling herself up to stand until she was almost at eye level with his jaw. 'Tell me. I want to know.'  
  
He seemed to hesitate. 'Well.....it's silly really...'  
  
'Brennan, please.' Her heart was drumming against her rib cage in an adrenaline clatter, the way it always did when someone was going to tell her something bad, and she didn't want to hear it, but she was going to have to anyway. 'Tell me.'  
  
'Okay.' She saw the beginnings of a flush appearing on his cheeks. It was amazing, Brennan Mulwray flushing. Or maybe it was heat from the shower, she couldn't really be sure. 'I...uh....I mean....you're not falling in love with me, are you Emma?'  
  
Her heart skipped a beat. And now, the blood was rushing to her face. Oh God...God...  
  
He glanced at her face in consternation. 'Forget I said it. I take it back.'  
  
'No, no, Bren,' She placed her fingers on his lips. 'It's a legitimate question.' The beating of her heart was almost painful. How does one answer this? It was impossible to think about a question like this, it entailed a flood of emotions she wasn't ready to acknowledge. And what did he want to hear? 'What in the world made you suddenly ask that....and in the middle of....this?'  
  
She had never been so tempted to get a hit off him as about now.  
  
He seemed to pause for a while, perhaps to reminisce about some not so recent memory that had triggered him or to think of the right words to put whatever she was dreading he would say. 'I guess you could say it happens to me....a lot. With women I mean.' He hurriedly added possibly, she thought, because he was afraid it would make him sound too arrogant, 'It's not necessarily me. It's just that women tend to take these things differently.'  
  
Emma licked her lips nervously. 'And you think I'm like your other women?'  
  
Their eyes met and locked. And she now gave in to temptation, no, desperation - she had to know, and she had the power in her hands. Wildly, she flung out with her mind and plunged into his, oh God, please let me know what he's thinking about, just give me a clue so I'd know where I stand raw emotions shredded and tangled and she encountered..  
  
gasping  
  
..a brick wall. It was amazing, but he had managed to shield her. She looked into his brown eyes in surprise, wondering if he was even aware of it. Was it because they had been spending a lot of time together recently, and he had managed to hone his defenses up against her? Or was it because he, like her, was not prepared to face the barrage of complicated emotions that were required to be catalogued and reckoned with?  
  
Breathing deep, she said carefully. 'I love you, Brennan. You're my best friend. I think you know that. But I'm not in love with you.'  
  
She hoped she wasn't lying. At least, not yet. She didn't know. He hadn't given her time to sort out her feelings, and she needed the time damn him because right now they were a chaotic, disheveled mess where he was concerned, and where Shalimar was concerned too ...and oh, her head was throbbing.  
  
Was the expression on his face relieved? Or disappointed? She couldn't tell? He was an expert at masking his emotions when he chose to.  
  
'Okay,' he said. 'I love you too.' A pause. 'As a best friend, I mean.'  
  
I'm glad we got that settled, she thought wryly.  
  
Haplessly, she clung to him, her erstwhile lover and best friend; and prayed that no matter what happened, she would always have him to cling to.  
  
*  
  
*  
  
*  
  
*  
  
'I think the first thing that went through my mind was stark, sheer terror,' Brennan told Emma as they lay naked under the sheets of her bed, her head resting on his shoulder, 'because I thought my mother was dead, and that I had killed my stepfather. For a while, my mind just went blank, like a black hole had completely sucked it out and wrung it dry. I think I must have sat there for about 10 minutes, just looking at everything and nothing in particular.  
  
'Then, sanity prevailed and I knew my mother had to come above everything. That's when I crept to the phone to call 911. Looking back, I think that was a mistake.'  
  
He had called 911. His mother was not dead though the thought had occurred to him when he saw her lying there, and he knew he would have lost whatever shred of sanity he possessed had she been dead . But the same could not have been said about his stepfather.  
  
I'm a murderer, he thought. I'm 10 years old and I'm already a murderer.  
  
He was glad he didn't believe in hell, because he would have gone straight to it.  
  
He was stoned throughout the entire period, his mind resisting all thoughts and ramifications blankly, when the ambulance came for them, and throughout the inquest at the hospital. He vaguely remembered someone asking him questions a doctor maybe, and them wheeling his mother away 'She's got a broken arm and a concussion, but she should be okay' .  
  
And a pleasant voice in front of him, the doctor again, saying, 'Do you want to tell me what happened?'  
  
He was silent for a long time. Just looking down at his palms. Finally, he mumbled, 'It was an accident.'  
  
'Okay....your dad....was he abusing your mom?'  
  
He wanted to say, 'He's my stepdad' but the words dropped right into his throat and stuck there.  
  
They couldn't get anything else out of him that night. So they left him in a bed in a darkened room. The doctor paused at the door before he exited, however. 'There's going to be a police officer. Nothing to be alarmed about, he's just going to ask you some routine questions. But you're gonna have to tell us what happened, okay?'  
  
He had a hard time falling asleep that night, even though they gave him sedatives. Some of the nurses popped in, to give him some hot chocolate and to tuck him into bed they thought he was cute, even back then but he stared listlessly ahead, wondering if he had to concoct a story. What did they call it in detective movies? Yes, an alibi. He wasn't too good at stories, yet. When he finally fell asleep, he was plagued by restless dreams that chased one another in a senseless, spinning vortex, all singular frightening stories - every one of them.  
  
He was awoken sometime in the morning by the doctor, who ushered in a hard-faced, sandy-haired young man.  
  
'Brennan,' he said. 'This is Detective Javier. From Homicide.'  
  
'The moment I saw him,' Brennan said, 'I knew he was bad news. He must have been around 22, 23. Keen-nosed as hell.'  
  
'But,' Emma interrupted, 'you didn't do anything other than in self- defense. And it was an accident.'  
  
Brennan paused. 'If you touch a faulty electrical device and it electrocutes you, that's an accident. If you get hit by lightning under a tree, that's an accident. Or some would call it an act of God. I don't think what I did was an accident. And somehow, Detective Javier knew that.'   
  
Detective Javier sat him down in a chair, like one of those interrogation movies he saw on TV. And asked questions. Threw out hypotheses. Did Brennan's mom manage to kill his stepdad before she hit her head? Did Brennan himself do the deed? Was it an accident? And how? Did his stepdad accidentally touch the electric kettle and got himself fried? But if he did, why was there a burn mark on his neck and not on his hand, which would be the most logical place to be if someone was touching something? Did Brennan hit him with an electric cattle prod? Where was the electric prod? Did he hide it?  
  
And all that time, Brennan just sat there, mumbling 'I don't know, I must have blacked out.' Over and over again.  
  
In retrospect, it was the best thing he could have said.  
  
'I don't think he bought it for one minute,' Brennan told Emma in a monotone. 'But my mom had woken up, and I told her what happened. And she knew I had to do it before he killed her. But I think something inside her broke, like she was this fragile clockwork doll, and she was irreparable after that.  
  
'We both decided to hush up. Meanwhile, the results on the coroner's inquest had come back, and it stated death by electrocution. There were 2 burn marks, one on his neck and the other at the exit, which was at his right foot. The electricity had burned a path right through him before it grounded, because that's what lightning always does you know, try to find ground; and when they opened him up, they could see burned tissues all inside. It was the first time I knew how devastating my powers could be.'  
  
'Oh Brennan,' Emma gripped his hand. 'You don't have to tell me that.'  
  
'I have to,' he said dully. 'Because once I start I can't stop.'   
  
Since no one could prove anything or find any incriminating evidence, and no one quite knew how to piece together the events of the night, they let him go.  
  
He felt his spirits lift for the first time since that dark night. He was free, both his mom and him. Somehow, someone decided to give him a second chance. It was like a kernel of hope at the end of his tunnel. It almost made him want to believe in the God of his Irish Catholic father.  
  
As he helped his mom out of the hospital, she with an arm sling looking like she had aged 10 years overnight, her eyes hollowed and very, very old; and he - with just the slightest haste in his step to flee the accursed place and start anew with his mom somewhere else - he saw Detective Javier detach himself from a corner and walk to him.  
  
Oh God, Brennan thought, and had the sudden desperate urge to run as fast as he could. But he couldn't move because he was holding on to his mom.  
  
'I just want to say a couple of things to you, kid,' Detective Javier said. He stubbed his cigarette out with his foot. 'You may think you got away with it, but I know you did it. Somehow. And I'll be waiting till you slip up again. So you just watch your back.'  
  
Brennan had never been so petrified in his entire life. He stood frozen to the spot as Javier walked away.  
  
They rented a little apartment in a tenement, because neither of them could go back to the trailer. There was only one room, a huge stain on the ceiling; the plaster had flaked, and at night, the constant wailing of police sirens kept him awake. The Hispanic neighbors next door were always fighting, and he could hear (though not understand) every word through the thin walls. They also had bed bugs and he woke up constantly itching and scratching at 4 am in the morning.  
  
But he was happy. He had his mom again and they didn't have to live every day wondering where the next blow was coming from.  
  
Gradually, they were getting their lives back.  
  
'My mother was healing,' Brennan said. 'She went back to the diner to work and I ..well, I was having problems of my own.'  
  
It was okay to be cute as a little boy, but now he was growing up. And where he lived, being cute put you at a disadvantage. The other boys would round up on him, sometimes five against one, in the back alleys after school. Most of them belonged to one gang or another and some of them had switchblades. And after the incident with his stepfather (and the specter of Detective Javier looming above him), he did not dare use his powers on another human being.  
  
'Hey gay boy,' they would catcall and make kissing sounds. Then they would nudge one another and say, 'Let's have some sport.' And descend on him.  
  
It also didn't help that he had an Irish sounding name. It was the streets after all and it was considered cool to be racist.  
  
He fought them, glad for whatever self-defense classes he had taken. He would come home with a bruised eye and cut lip, and be proud because he had held back four of them all by himself. There was even once he came back with a pen knife stab wound in his abdomen. He had gone to bed without cleaning it and it had festered.  
  
He didn't tell his mother - he was too embarrassed to admit he was picked on for being too pretty. But she knew anyway, and dressed and stitched up his cuts with a 'Try not to fight too much, honey' and a promise: 'When I've saved up a bit of money, we'll get out of this place and go somewhere better.'  
  
He knew it wouldn't have mattered. There were always going to be problems anywhere they went. Besides, he didn't want her to go out of the way to do it. She had been getting tired lately, she wasn't sleeping well and he could hear her coughing at night.  
  
'I thought she was getting old real fast,' Brennan said to Emma. 'And we didn't have medical insurance, so we pretty much took care of each other. I really hated looking the way I did back then. I wasn't interested in girls..'  
  
Emma raised her eyebrows   
  
'...at least not yet. So I made up my mind to be so big and tough and mean that no one would ever mess with me again.'  
  
Powers were never something to rely on so it was best he did it the traditional way. He had struck puberty and was determined to build himself up. He swam and ran and ate as much as his mother could afford to feed him. He began to sign up for martial arts classes. Serious ones. Tae kwon do and kickboxing.  
  
It succeeded.  
  
At 13, he was already 5' 10" and showed no signs of stopping his growth. He was big and strapping and an able street fighter, known for never backing down even when the odds were against him. The bullies learned to be wary of him. So did the teachers. In fact, only one thing stopped him from being a bully himself. He didn't trust his own strength around other people.  
  
'It also had a side effect,' Brennan said. 'I was 13, but I looked two years older. It made me very attractive to girls. And to older women.'  
  
Looking at him, Emma could believe it. 'Is this the part where you tell me about your first time and ask me to connect to you?'  
  
He gave her a rueful little smile. 'First times are never easy.'  
  
'So you were 13?' She laughed. 'Thank God. I thought you were going to tell me you were 11 or something when you did it.'  
  
'Nah. I was pretty behind in this aspect.'   
  
He had his pick of girls around his age, and also those who were a little older, from the eight or ninth grade. They would give him smiles as he walked past and then giggle behind him; which made him feel acutely uncomfortable, like he had forgotten to zip up his fly or something. Now and then, one of them would come up to say 'Hi' with her urging friends giggling in the background, get all blushing and tongue-tied when he said 'Hi' back, and run away, clutching her books.  
  
It made him feel weird.  
  
'I'd always been curious what guys like you go through,' Emma said. 'I mean, there have always been you guys in every school - I've seen them myself - and little girls always act like that around them. How do you handle it?'  
  
'Well, you don't notice it after a while. It becomes part of your life. I think I stopped noticing it when I turned 15 or so. And also, when the girls got older, they became more predatory. So it was easier to know where they stood. But at that time I was thinking all girls were weird. If you want to talk to me, come up and hold a conversation with me. Don't make me feel like a freak.'  
  
'But you are a freak.'  
  
'I can always count on you to remind me, Emma.'  
  
There was one particular girl he was interested in. She was 14, with long blonde hair and green eyes. She had an unconscious innocence and a smile that sent all the guys blazing. And the nicest thing was that she was completely unaware of the effect she had.  
  
'Her name was Dash. She was really really beautiful. She had these dimples, and the most perfect teeth. She wasn't that smart but that was okay with me. She was nice to be with because her needs were simple, and at that time, I didn't really care for complicated women. She didn't want much, except maybe to be loved.'  
  
Don't all women want that? Emma thought sadly.   
  
Now he was the one who was tongue-tied. She was after all one year older than him.  
  
'How do you think I should approach her?' He asked his best friend, Rico.  
  
'Are you kidding me? Go up and talk to her, I've seen her looking at you. She's got the hots for you, man.'  
  
'But what should I say?'  
  
Rico rolled his eyes. 'God man, say anything, it doesn't matter. She doesn't want you for your brains.'  
  
Great. Now he was going to make Dash feel like a freak.  
  
'But don't screw it up with her, okay?' Rico warned. 'She's got a mean son of a bitch for a brother. That's why most of the guys lay off her.'  
  
Yeah. Everyone knew Dash's brother. 18 year old high school dropout Frankie, who led one of the gangs in the neighborhood. Rumors were rife with Frankie, they said he was a drug dealer, a pimp, a thief. Some said he had even killed a guy. Knifed him in the back.  
  
I won't hurt her, Brennan promised himself.  
  
They started tentatively at first. Rico was right. Dash was not immune to his charms. He didn't even have to make great conversation before he was walking her home, holding her books in one arm and her hand with the other. He liked being with her. She was so...happy, for want of a better word. So summery, like the way he used to be before everything happened. Being with her, he felt innocent again.  
  
Not long after that, they began kissing. Sweet little kisses at first, and then not so innocent ones. Like those they saw in the movies. Tongues searching, interlocking, probing.  
  
After a while, she said, 'I think I love you, Brennan.'  
  
He wasn't sure how to reply to that.  
  
'Do you know what happens after they kiss in the movies?' she asked.  
  
'I think they take their clothes off,' he replied honestly.  
  
'Do you know what happens after that?'  
  
'I have some idea, but I'd better find out more.'  
  
Gad, he was really honest in those days. It didn't take him long to find out though, Rico was a font of information.  
  
'Oh fuck!' Rico exclaimed. 'You're going to second base, man. I'm still jerking off to Playboy, and you're getting the real thing. You just have to do what comes naturally, and tell me all about it.'  
  
The trouble was finding a place he could go to second base to. They settled for the janitor's broom closet, there was a bit of space there and the door had a lock. More importantly, there was a light overhead, and he could watch Dash as she nervously unbuttoned her blouse, displaying a white bra that made her look terribly virginal.  
  
'Brennan, are you sure we're doing the right thing?' she asked worriedly.  
  
He kissed her before she could change her mind, and unclasped her bra. She had sweet little budding breasts; these he kissed too, eliciting a moan from her. He kissed her on the neck, feeling her shudder, then on her smooth belly, sliding off her panties as he did so. She had a pubescent body, and she was the most glorious thing he had ever seen.  
  
She blushed as he luxuriated at the sight of her. Crossing her legs and clasping her arms across her breasts, she whispered, 'Don't look at me like that.'  
  
'But you're beautiful,' he assured her. 'Look, I'll take off my clothes too.'  
  
And he hurriedly did, leaving them in a pile on the floor. She gazed at him, 'Oh wow' and turned frightened eyes on his hardness.  
  
'I'm really really scared, Brennan.'  
  
'It's gonna be okay,' he said as he pushed her down and entered her. He must have been a little rough because she cried out, and he had to put his hand on her mouth to keep her from alerting anyone. But oh, she felt so good. So warm and wonderful, and wet and soft. He found himself settling into a rhythm 'It'll come naturally' and hoped she was enjoying it as much as he did.  
  
'What do you feel, Emma?' he said, looking deep into her eyes and taking her hand to put it against his head. Which was symbolic really, because her power was in her mind.  
  
She closed her eyes. It was too complex to put it into words, all the sensations coursing through her. 'It feels wonderful. And.....so different.'  
  
He kissed her closed eyelids, whispering, 'I told you so.'  
  
He came fairly swiftly, gasping. It was only when he rolled off her that he noticed Dash was crying.  
  
'I didn't know it hurt so much,' she sobbed.  
  
He looked down at himself. He was covered in her blood. 'I'm sorry....I didn't know.' He didn't think it would be so traumatic. All that blood was making him a little queasy. He stammered, 'I...I think it would be better next time.'  
  
He hoped there would be a next time. He had to coax her for a while before she agreed to try again. This time he took a longer time in kissing her and playing with her breasts. And when he entered her again, she didn't cry out.  
  
'I learnt early on women needed a lot of foreplay,' Brennan explained to Emma. 'It made the whole experience so much better for them. And for me. Because making it better for them was the whole point.'  
  
They spent the entire summer making out whenever and wherever they could. Dash got to like sex with him a lot, at least he liked to think that she did. But more importantly, she wanted him to love her.  
  
'I love you so much, Brennan,' she said while he was inside her. 'Don't you love me too?'  
  
'I love you,' he dutifully said. He would have said anything just so she would allow him to keep going. The truth was, he wasn't very sure what he felt for her was love. Lust and affection definitely. But love? That was too complicated to even define.  
  
And then one day, it all fell apart. Dash came to him after the second class and pulled him into a corner. There were hollows in her eyes, as though she had been crying all night.  
  
'I think I'm pregnant, Brennan.'  
  
He was thunderstruck. He wasn't prepared for this. 'How do you know?' He was thinking, oh God...all those times they made love....completely without protection. He was old enough to know about that. Well maybe not that old - he was only 14 - but if he was old enough to have sex, he should have been thinking about protection.  
  
What in the world had he been thinking of?  
  
'I know, okay,' she said softly. 'I stole my sister's test kit and tried it out. Three times. Then I went to the doctor and she confirmed it for me. She wanted me to tell my folks. But I'm so scared. What should we do, Brennan?'  
  
He was feeling every bit as scared as she was. 'How...how far are you gone?'  
  
'Four months.' Tears ran down her cheeks. She looked so vulnerable. 'Maybe we should get married or something.'  
  
'No!' His vehemence shocked even him. 'We can't even think about that. I'm too young...I mean, we're both too young.'  
  
'But I thought..you loved me.'  
  
'I do...I mean, I do..but this is just so....' He held up his hands. She was crying openly now. 'We're not ready for this. You just have to get rid of it.' His mind was swimming, he wasn't quite sure he knew what he was saying.  
  
'But I don't know how!' she cried.  
  
People streaming by were beginning to look at them. He pulled her away. 'Look, I can't think about this right now. I don't have the answers...but I will go back and think about it. And I'll get back to you. Okay? You've got to give me time. We'll fix this, okay?'  
  
'I'm not something to be fixed, Brennan.' Something in her voice broke. 'I really thought you cared for me.'  
  
'I do,' he said anxiously. 'But....I just need time to think about this okay? You just stay put. And I'll get back to you.'  
  
He walked away from her, his mind racing wildly. The thoughts were jumbling in his head, a dozen possibilities streaming one after the other. What had he gotten himself into? He was getting a splitting headache, just trying to sort the cascade into a semblance of order. Maybe he had to ask Rico about this. Or maybe not Rico...someone more...adult. Like his mother. But God forbid he could never tell his mother. She would be too mortified.  
  
He didn't have time to sort anything out. Before the day was over, and he had gone zombie-like through several classes, he noticed the principal walking into the schoolroom, looking dead serious. Everyone looked up.  
  
Oh God, he thought. She told on him. Damn her, why couldn't she wait till he had time to sort things out? Now he was going to be in so much trouble.  
  
'Mulwray,' the principal said. 'Will you come into my office, please?'  
  
His heart was pounding in his chest. He could feel everyone staring at him as he walked out. He didn't want to look at anybody.  
  
Outside the principal's office, there was a hive of activity. He recognized a lot of teachers, all who paused in their conversations to look at him as he went past. The principal held the door open for him as he entered.  
  
'Sit down.'  
  
He did, feeling the blood rush into his head. He suddenly felt giddy. In the chair next to him, Carol - Dash's best friend - turned her tear- streaked face to look at him. He couldn't read her expression.  
  
'Mulwray,' the principal said. 'An hour ago, somebody found Dash McKenzie in the girls' bathroom at the second floor. There was a lot of blood all over the stall and her clothes. Carol here tells me she's pregnant, and that you're the father.'  
  
Oh God....Dash.....He was so busy thinking about himself he hadn't thought about her.  
  
'Is...is she okay?'  
  
'She was trying to get rid of her baby.' The principal looked at him sharply. 'She tore herself up pretty bad. She must have lain there for a couple of hours before somebody found her. We called for the ambulance. Carol says you had a fight with her.'  
  
His mind was reeling. 'I..I didn't think it was a fight.....'  
  
'That's not all. Her wrists were slashed. She was trying to kill herself. We don't know if she'll make it.'  
  
As the principal looked somberly at him, he felt his world drowning. Oh God....God, please don't let me be responsible for this....  
  
*  
  
*  
  
*  
  
'Don't you have any happy stories to tell, Brennan?' Emma said, stroking the line of his jaw.  
  
'They're coming up,' he gave her a peck on the cheek. 'I just had a rough childhood.'  
  
'And all the people around you.'  
  
'Yeah.'  
  
She hugged him, sensing that his mood had shifted into a pensive mode. 'Do you want to stay with me tonight?'  
  
He seemed to consider it. 'Yes, I would like that.'  
  
She tucked both of them in tenderly, and cuddled up to him, laying her head in the crook of his shoulder. He was so warm and wonderful. She could lie like this forever, basking in his scent, feeling the rise and fall of his chest against her cheek as he peacefully slid into slumber.  
  
When she was certain he had fallen asleep, she raised herself on her elbow to gaze at him. He was the epitome of tranquility, and he was so...oh God, she thought.....so very beautiful. She loved the way his lashes curled up, the perfect line of his cheekbones, the sensuous turn of his mouth, the glow of his skin in the lamplight. He looked almost angelic, the way she thought Lucifer might have looked like before he fell from heaven; that same otherworldly joyous beauty.  
  
In a sudden shocking revelation, she realized she was in love with him. Oh God...  
  
Her hand flew to her mouth.  
  
When..when did this happen? Was it when he first kissed her? The images and sensations were flashing in her head now - that first kiss in the motel bed, so chaste and hesitant. His later kisses, so urgent and powerful with need. His lips and tongue everywhere, exploring hungrily. The silky feel of his skin and his taut muscles under her caresses....But no...it was far more than a physical thing, of this she was certain.  
  
Was it when he began telling her his stories? Herself sinking into them, experiencing his growth and angst through his eyes, that tangible vulnerability that he hid from them in the day, displayed in its stark naked state for her and her only. Did that make him become irresistible to her? A man, his soul stripped bare for her compassion. Did that not unlock something within her - a nurturing instinct perhaps - that made her want to hold him in her arms and shield him against the world forever?  
  
Or had she loved him from the very beginning, the day they met so long ago? Only she had kept it hidden, in denial from herself. And as their friendship grew, so did their caring. So many vivid images; the two of them, almost dying, being saved by each other, more rebirth and dying, like a needy cycle that feeds on itself, a dragon that devours its own tail.  
  
She felt almost dizzy with all the reeling images and emotions that besieged her. But there was no going back. She loved him. She was in love with him. She loved him for the man he was, the man he was not, and the man she wanted him to be. She loved him with her heart, her soul and her bones, and she knew it was like no love she had ever experienced before, not with Tyler....or with anyone. She loved him with a deep, deep rapture; it was something that filled her with agony, and yet with heady delight. She loved him in spite of his past and his present, his faults and his inadequacies, his deficiencies and his failures, his hopes and his dreams, his deep secret yearnings; in spite of himself.  
  
She wanted to emit a mental scream in the air, of triumph and declaration - I love you, Brennan. I love you, I love you!  
  
The euphoria settling around her, she drew her knees into her arms and clasped them. Okay, she thought, so I'm in love with him. Now what the heck am I going to do about it?  
  
TBC  
P/s: Okay, so I've reached the theme I wanted to explore. Can a man and a woman who are best friends have a sexual relationship without falling in love? As always, please R & R to keep me going. 


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7  
  
Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters, except for my own. The rest belong to Tribune Entertainment.  
  
Something happened over the week and I feel really bad about it. My favorite uncle keeled over with a heart attack. His heart went into ventricular fibrillation twice, and he literally 'died'. They managed to revive him, and he's okay for the moment. But I was out of the country for business at that time, and nobody told me about it, despite the fact I'm contactable by handphone and e-mail 24 hrs a day, no matter where I am. Well, my husband would have told me, except they didn't tell him either.  
  
What made me feel bad was that my uncle was asking where I was because he thought he was going to die. And all the 2 days I was in Hong Kong, all I worried about (selfishly) was whether I would contract atypical pneumonia, without giving a thought that other people might be in worse straits.  
  
So anyway, this chapter is written for my uncle, who doesn't even know I watch Mutant X.  
  
Rated PG-13  
  
Emma awoke, the bits and pieces of the night's events like mental flotsam in her consciousness. There was a warmness trickling within her, a permeating fluffy suffusion that she could neither give shape nor form....What was it again? Oh yes, I've decided I'm in love with Brennan Mulwray. That was so easy. The admittance, and then the helpless surrender to inevitable fate.  
  
She looked at his sleeping form; it was still early, the sun had yet to rise. This thing called love, experienced so rarely and so acutely....it was already hurting so much inside, a pulsating throbbing within each heartbeat; of expectation and trepidation. Waves of elation and fear, interchangeable like a magnetic field, swinging from one polarity to the next.  
  
Oh what oh what, she wondered, if he doesn't feel the same way?  
  
That's the way it always is, isn't it? With love. When you are the index case, when you are Patient Zero and you've decided you're in love with somebody. And you don't know what he's feeling, or even what he's thinking about.  
  
And if you tell him, Emma, and if he's not ready for it....can you bear the rejection?  
  
The awful truth of the matter hit her suddenly like a blow to her stomach. She gasped, it was almost visceral.  
  
I can't tell him, she thought. I can't tell him because I can't bear to know if he doesn't feel the same way.  
  
And the knowing of it would surely tear her apart, wringing her heart into a million pieces and scattering it far and wide, until there would be no option for possible healing. Oh, this thing they had now, this closeness, this physicality.....it was so wonderful. If she told him now, and if he was not ready to hear it; if he pushed her away and shut himself to her, she would have lost him, this closeness they now enjoyed and any possible future their coupling might bring. And worse, it would destroy their friendship forever.  
  
She had seen it too many times to other people. Love unrequited. The palpable pain and the ecstasy of it.  
  
And what you didn't know....that was when hope blossomed, opening its petals tentatively, like a fragile flower braving the last of the winter winds.  
  
You have to ride it out, Emma, the voice of reason told her. Ride out this plan till its culmination. And then you will know. And accept whatever fate has doled out to you.  
  
Her situation was so hilarious she wanted to laugh. She was far from being the only woman ever to be in this state. All this yearning and frustration, all this second-guessing and rumination.... There were men and women who would give their right arms to be telepaths or tele-empaths just to know what their object of adoration would be thinking about. And here she was, with all that power, and he had shielded his mind from her!  
  
What a riot.  
  
It was his present state that she could not access, it was only his past that he opened up to her. And he had done this with such a skillful, unconscious dexterity she had to marvel at it. It was almost as though he knew she was going to invade his mind...Perhaps he truly had precognition. There might be a key she could unlock, she might be able to probe into him a little. But somehow that felt like rape and she would be no better than Gabriel Ashlocke if she attempted it.  
  
Oh the agony of it.  
  
What are you thinking of, Brennan? she wondered desperately. Why won't you let me read you?  
  
All his actions, put now in prolonged analysis - his words, his gestures, every turn of his head, every touch of his hand. His kisses, his smiles, the gleam in his eye - there was never one moment or incident that stood out with great clarity to suggest he might have been in love with her. Oh yes, they had made love, long and languorous and passionately. But he had made love to plenty of women, and he had not loved them, even when they had given their hearts to him, opened their souls bare to him in desperation and abandonment. He had even been honest in this revelation.  
  
That botched blow-job she had tried to give him. And his symbolic pushing away of her head. You're not falling in love with me, are you Emma?  
  
And yet...those sweet tender kisses. The way he had opened up his heart to her.... 'I guess I had to tell somebody someday'.... The way he had kissed her closed eyelids when he had melded his mind with hers to share his mental orgasm. The pause in the shower. 'I love you...as a best friend, I mean.'  
  
No. Her decision was the correct one, that much she was sure. There were things she had to find out before she could take the next step, things she had to do.  
  
If she even dared to take the next step.  
  
*  
  
*  
  
*  
  
'Brennan, can I ask you something?'  
  
They were in his room this time, for variety. They had made love in his bed, or discovered new ways of extremely heavy petting - as she would like to call it, since there was none of the requisite intercourse at the end of it. Goodness, he was such a mess. She had felt something digging in her back, and reached out beneath to pull out his belt....and by that time the buckle had already made an indent in her skin.  
  
And when she had tried to stretch her legs under the quilt, she encountered something with her toe. Flinging off the quilt, she discovered two dog-eared magazines - Muscle and Fitness and of course, Hustler. That summed up his interests pretty nicely.  
  
'Brennan!'  
  
'Sorry you had to see that,' he said with a grin, sounding not one bit sorry. And snatched them away from her to toss them under the bed.  
  
She wondered what else was under his bed. But she didn't have time to find out because he was unscrewing a jar of eucalyptus oil and was proceeding to give her a sensual massage. Damn, but the man had magic fingers.  
  
She had given him one in return. And now they were cuddling up again in slippery earnestness, giggling at the heady scent of eucalyptus and the squishiness of their bodies sliding up against each other's. She made a mental note to help him change his bedsheets after this. And to help him to clear up what was under his bed.  
  
Now that she was in love with him, his every kiss, every touch and every caress seemed to hold so much more significance. It was as though her sensory fibres were intensified, their receptors primed and stimulated in manifold. Even a mere look from him could now make her quiver in pleasure. Oh, she had it bad. And she was feeding it, devouring this fantasy like a ravenous glutton at a banquet.  
  
'What do you have to ask me?' He was smiling, bringing her hand up to his lips and kissing her eucalyptus-slick fingers.  
  
'It's about Dash MacKenzie. She loved you so much, but you didn't love her. And yet, you had so much history together.'  
  
'Yes.' He was sobering up now. She was almost sorry she brought it up, but she had to know. 'You're asking me why I didn't love her.'  
  
How could you not? That was really what Emma wanted to know, if she was honest with herself. 'I mean....she gave you everything, her body, her soul...she held nothing back. And yet....' The question was at the tip of her tongue, but she couldn't say it.  
  
What would it take for you to love a person back, Brennan Mulwray? Especially when she had given you her all and she had nothing left to give.  
  
He was quiet for a moment, as though he was considering the most careful answer to give.  
  
Then he sighed. 'I wondered about that myself. But loving someone is so complicated...you either experience it or you don't. It's not something you can force yourself to do. Or maybe it might have been reciprocal love for me and Dash, given time. Like those Eastern brides who grow to love the husbands their parents had chosen for them, but only after many years. And Dash and I didn't have time.'  
  
*  
  
*  
  
*  
  
He stood there, in the anteroom next to the Intensive Care Unit, his mind a void.  
  
Was it possible to feel anything anymore? All through the journey from school to the hospital, all the teachers looking at him, reproachful glances tinged with pity. Carol looking at him blankly, not blaming him, not accusing him, not even acknowledging him...that was the worst of all.  
  
And the parting words from the principal, 'Maybe this is a life lesson, boy. It's too late now, but there are always consequences to everything you do. And it will do you well to think about that next time. You better hope she pulls through.'  
  
I've murdered her, he thought hollowly. Just like I murdered my stepfather. And even if she pulls through, I would have murdered her all the same.  
  
Was there no end to the suffering he caused people?  
  
And even now, this blank slate that was in his mind, this numbing melange of remorse and self-loathing that was now ebbing away into a murky emptiness....almost as though his consciousness was refusing to accept any of it. There was anger even....why did she have to do this? Why couldn't she just have waited till the day was over? And the humbling paroxysms of guilt - guilt in huge doses, guilt upon guilt in waves, guilt like he had never known before. The signs were there....the turning of her head, the glazing of her eyes, the brokenness in her voice.....he should have known even as he walked away from her....  
  
'Are you here to see someone?' A voice shook him out of his reverie.  
  
He looked up to see a nurse, fully gowned with her hair done up in a surgical bonnet.  
  
'Uh yes, they told me Dash MacKenzie was in here. I was wondering if I could see her.'  
  
'Are you family?'  
  
'Well no. I'm her boyfriend.'  
  
He raised his eyes to meet the nurse's, and caught the flicker of understanding and sympathy. 'Well, I'm the nurse in charge of Dash and she's very ill. Her father is in there right now, very distraught. Her mother was in there earlier, but she had collapsed and we had to give her a sedative. She's resting in another room now.' The nurse paused. 'Given the circumstances of the case, and the fact that her parents haven't come to terms with it yet, perhaps it's best you don't see her. At least not yet.' She looked at him expectantly. 'I hope you understand.'  
  
Yes, of course. He understood. They were blaming him for it. He had met Dash's parents only briefly, they were working class and poor, just like his mother. Dash was one of the few highlights in their lives.  
  
He looked down. 'Yes. I...I guess I'll go now.'  
  
The nurse gave him a sad smile. 'You don't want to see her now anyway. She's on a ventilator. We are giving her 3 pints of blood and prepping her up for surgery. There's nothing you can do.'  
  
He licked his mouth. It was so dry it tasted acrid. 'What's going to happen to her?'  
  
'Are you sure you want to know this?'  
  
He nodded, his heart beating painfully against his ribs.  
  
'Well, she's bleeding massively from her womb, she used an object on it, as you know. She tore herself very badly. We tried to contract it with drugs, but the hemorrhaging hasn't stopped. The doctor thinks the only way to stop it is to go to surgery, repair what she can. But if we can't repair it, the doctor might have to remove her entire womb.'  
  
He felt faint. Around him, the world was reeling slightly. 'And what does that mean?'  
  
The nurse laid a compassionate hand on his shoulder. 'It means she won't have any more babies.' She added. 'If she pulls through in the first place.'  
  
He felt himself tottering, and hands steadying him. The nurse's eyes wide open in alarm. 'Are you all right? I shouldn't have told you. Here, come with me, let's sit you down.'  
  
He allowed himself to be led dazedly from the anteroom to a chair outside. Completely numb now. Unfeeling.  
  
The nurse was saying, 'You just sit right here. I'll get you a drink. And a counselor. It's best you talk to someone. Don't go away, okay?'  
  
He was not sure if he nodded in acquiescence. Everything was a blur. But when he became aware of his surroundings again, she had gone and he was alone.  
  
I have to get out of here, he thought desperately. He had not forgotten how much he hated hospitals. Standing up, he felt the blood draining from his head and pooling somewhere in the pit of his stomach. He placed one hand on the wall to steady himself. His lungs felt hot and constricted, he suddenly needed air.  
  
He made a mad dash out of the hospital into the twilight, the cool air blasting his face, reviving his panic attack somewhat. Pausing at a wall in the darkened parking lot, he gulped down breathfuls as he rested his forehead against the cold plaster.  
  
And felt a large hand grab him from behind.  
  
'So Mulwray, we finally meet.'  
  
He turned his head only to find a tire iron smashing into his face. As he sank to the ground, his last unclouded vision was that of Frankie MacKenzie, standing grimly over him.  
  
*  
  
*  
  
*  
  
He awoke in great pain, with a throbbing headache that threatened to cleave his brain into two. Water was dripping from his hair and eyes. In his mouth he tasted blood, and as he probed with his tongue, he felt a loose back tooth. He felt the sudden splosh of water thrown into his face again, inhaled before he knew what was happening and spluttered, gasping incoherently.  
  
He felt rough hands pulling up his head by the hair.  
  
'He's awake,' someone said. 'About time. No one will recognize him.'  
  
'Show him a mirror, Frankie.'  
  
He opened his eyes, they were encrusted with a sticky substance probably blood, he thought, and looked into a room. It was mostly bare, with just a light bulb overhead and a sink by the corner. That's where they must have gotten their water, he surmised weakly. There were five of them in the room, all with hooded eyes. The cigarette smoke in the room was so thick it was almost palpable, it made his eyes smart painfully. He recognized Frankie, but didn't know who the others were. Probably friends of Frankie, though it didn't matter. He had a notion they were going to kill him anyway.  
  
His wrists hurt. Looking down, he realized that he was strapped to a metal chair, his hands bound behind his back - it felt like rope and it was biting into his flesh, cutting off his circulation. The tips of his fingers felt numb, he couldn't feel them moving. His bare feet were similarly bound, strapped against the legs of the chair.  
  
Raising his eyes, he saw Frankie MacKenzie walking over to him, tapping the end of a baseball bat in his hand.  
  
He squeezed his eyes shut, averted his head - Oh God - and waited for the blow.  
  
When it came, it was less excruciating than he expected, so he was surprised. He gasped, the shock of the impact liquefying in his lower chest. It was almost numb for a little while, and then the pain hit him. The sudden intensity of it made him stagger, he would have fallen off the chair had he not been so securely fastened.  
  
He swallowed lungfuls of air. Oh God, it hurt to breathe, to even move his chest....they must have broken his ribs.  
  
'I'm sorry,' he said. Or tried to say. 'I never meant to hurt her.'  
  
He didn't expect mercy, it was just something he needed to tell them. He wasn't even sure they heard him, his voice had been reduced to a croak, it hurt to even vibrate.  
  
The blow came again, this time to the other side of his chest. This time he felt it crack - it was a snap, like a dry twig. Anymore of this, and his entire chest was going to cave in. If they were going to use it on his head, he thought, he prayed they would be swift.  
  
'Break his kneecaps, Frankie.'  
  
'Yeah.'  
  
'And his legs.'  
  
He didn't want to open his eyes. He was terrified. So very terrified. He was glad his bladder was empty, because he was sure he would have wet himself.  
  
'Nah,' he heard Frankie say. 'He'll probably pass out. We'll save that till last. This one needs a lesson in slow pain, bit by bit, till he's drowning in it. Like what he did to my sister.'  
  
He had to bite down on his tongue to keep himself from gasping out in pain. Some stubborn part of him, honed by years of fighting off bullies and maintaining fronts insisted it wasn't manly. And yet another part was saying, Screw trying to be manly. It's okay to be scared, you're just a kid. He was resisting that part, because some instinct told him it was still important to maintain appearances.  
  
He was damned if they were going to see him cry.  
  
He felt a pang of regret. He had lived 14 years, and they weren't exactly good ones. He was sorry he didn't get to do so many things, or at least get to plan to do them anyway. He was sorry he wasn't going to get a chance to love Dash. He hoped she was going to be okay. And he hoped someone would be taking care of his mom.  
  
'What do you have in store for him, Frankie?'  
  
He heard a snigger, and someone not Frankie snorted. 'He's just a kid. What does your sister see in him anyway when she can have me.'  
  
There was an ominous silence. Then Frankie's voice, booming. 'You shut your trap about my sister. Or I'll shut it for you.'  
  
Were they going to fight? He wondered if he dared exploit this. Only he wasn't sure how. Slowly, he opened his eyes a slit.  
  
'Hey.' A mediating tone. 'We're not fighting, okay? We're just going to do the kid and split, that was the deal.'  
  
'Yeah. And if we're going to do this torture thing, Frankie, you'd better do it quick.'  
  
He opened his eyes fully now, and saw Frankie standing in front of him. There was a significant lack of expression on the older boy's face. It reminded him horribly of Carol's blank features. Rumors of Frankie reverberated in his head, echoes from murmurings in school hallways and the streets, each story more terrifying than the other. Suddenly, he felt a new wave of fear wash over him.  
  
'Take off his pants,' Frankie said.  
  
His heart stopped in mid-beat. He wasn't sure he had heard it correctly. He gripped his fists, they were so numb he hardly felt himself doing that. Surely they were not going to...  
  
He saw the other guys grinning. 'What d'ya have in mind, Frankie?' They were edging towards him now. One of them kneeling in front of him, unbuttoning his fly. In consternation, he realized wasn't wearing underwear.  
  
'I'm going to cut off his balls, the way they should do for all rapists, and hang them around his neck.'  
  
No, he thought, his mind racing. This was not possible. He was not, not going to let his happen. He began to tug frantically at his ropes. In front of him, Frankie was bending down, reaching into his right boot and taking out a knife.  
  
I didn't rape your sister, he wanted to scream. But it wouldn't have mattered. Somewhere, in the clutter of Frankie's mind, he had already made the connection (perhaps it was an easier concept to handle than to admit she had consensual sex) and whether it was erroneous or not mattered little.  
  
The knife unsheathed. Brennan stared, paralyzed, as the blade caught the reflection of the light. Oh dear God..  
  
'We're going to have to cut through his leg ropes, Frankie, can't remove his pants otherwise.'  
  
'Don't bother.'  
  
He felt the cold knife tip at his crotch, and suddenly, a fiery trail of pain as it sliced down the inside of his right thigh through the fabric of his pants. As the knife descended down his knee and shin, he felt it scrape against bone, a grating sound like a cleaver through gristle. The pain was excruciating. Every single nerve fiber was now in flame, and not just on his leg.  
  
This time, he couldn't stop himself from screaming.  
  
The ropes that bound his right leg lay severed at his feet. Blood, massive doses of dark blood, was pooling at the wound, staining what was left of his right trouser leg. A dark veil clouded his vision, and he felt himself blacking out.  
  
Someone shook him and placed a cuff on his right temple. 'Oh no you don't. You're gonna stay awake through this.'  
  
He felt the knife slicing through the ropes on his left leg, dicing the skin of his ankle there, again scraping against bone, and someone pulling off his pants by the trouser leg that way. He thanked his lucky stars they weren't meting out the same treatment for his other leg....probably thought he would pass out from the pain, or loss of blood. If he wasn't passing out already.  
  
He didn't know how he was going to last past the next few minutes.  
  
It suddenly occurred to him that his legs were now free. Hope burgeoned. Perhaps he could still fight his way through. After all....his hands grazed against the metal seat of the chair....of course, metal.....if only he didn't feel so weak...  
  
'Hold him,' he heard Frankie say. 'He's going to be a bit of a struggle. I've seen it happen. Hold his arms tight. And his legs wide apart. Don't let him move.'  
  
He felt rough hands pinioning his arms and shoulders, bending them backwards. He didn't know why they bothered, his hands were tightly bound anyway. Strong forearms were locking his thighs, grazing against the wound.  
  
His head was still wet from the water they threw on him. He was probably going to kill himself doing it anyway. But he didn't have a choice. He just had to wait. Just a while longer.  
  
He felt Frankie grip his scrotum in an iron fist white flashes zig- zagged across his vision and he felt a deep visceral pain in his depths and felt the cold serrated edge of the knife against his skin.  
  
Now! He thought.  
  
He gripped the edge of the metal chair with his hands, still bound behind his back. And discharged with all the energy that was left in him.  
  
He didn't know how much he put into it, but he felt the sizzling shock of electricity course through the chair and back into his body, burning the parts of his body which were in direct contact with the metal - his back and his bare buttocks. And rampaging through his flesh like a conduit, electrifying everything and everyone in contact with him.  
  
Thank God they were gripping him so tightly, he thought as he spasmed in the aftershock and passed out.  
  
*  
  
He awoke. He was surprised that he did, because for a moment he couldn't remember what had happened, only that it was something bad. He was lying on his side, still bound to the chair. One of the ropes was loose, and he tugged at it, feeling it give. It was probably singed. His head felt like it was spinning in a vortex.  
  
Around him, motionless bodies were strewn. Wildly he thought, dear God....I've killed them all.  
  
But that was the plan wasn't it? He had planned it somewhere in the frenetic recesses of his mind. He had gambled that his body would be able to withstand shock far better than anyone else's, since it practically channeled electricity every day. He had also gambled on the fact that if the shock didn't kill them, at least he would have been the first one awake.  
  
He wondered if the electric chair would kill him. And how much voltage it would take. He wasn't sure about the death penalty in the state, or whether it applied to minors. But he was pretty sure that was where Detective Javier would get a judge to send him if he ever found out.  
  
All of a sudden, it became imperative he should get away. And in great haste.  
  
He tossed away the remnants of the rope, feeling his hands prickling as circulation flowed into them again. Picking himself up, he felt blackness descend into the periphery of his vision - he was losing a lot of blood - and his wrecked body, especially his right leg and his chest, was hurting like something hellish.  
  
I need something to wear, he thought feverishly. And his wallet and keys were in his ruined pants, mustn't leave that behind as evidence.  
  
Kneeling at the nearest body - and experiencing a vertigo attack - he felt for a pulse, and was relieved to find one, faint and erratic as though it may be. He understood enough about electricity to know that it caused the heart to fibrillate, and perhaps that was happening. Anyhow, he didn't know if it was going to be fatal, and he was in too much agony to care anyway.  
  
He unbuckled the belt on the body, feeling like a corpse robber - though technically it wasn't a corpse, not yet - and pulled the jeans off, his fingers fumbling due to the lack of strength in them. He didn't want to check Frankie, or any of the others. Images of eyes fluttering wide open and hands grabbing him by the throat as soon as he knelt over them coursed through his mind. Perhaps he had seen too many horror movies, but then, his life was turning out to be one big nightmare.  
  
Ha knew he had to flee from it.  
  
He spent the rest of the journey in a blur, almost blacking out periodically. His right leg was soaking the trouser leg, the flow was ebbing, but the (very long) wound still bled. He didn't want to go to a hospital, he had an adverse phobia of being a patient in them. He would go home to his mother, and she would know what to do. He hoped she was home. Belatedly, he realized he had totally lost his time orientation - he didn't know what hour of the night it was, only that there were very few people around winos and homeless people mostly in this part of the neighborhood. Nobody looked at him, and he didn't look at them.  
  
'I don't know how I made it home,' Brennan told Emma, 'but I did. When I reached the apartment we rented, and I was fumbling for my keys, I realized my hands were bloody, and I was leaving prints all over the handle and the door. All I could think of was that I wanted to sleep, and maybe I would stop bleeding. I was very naïve.'  
  
The apartment was bathed with light. Which was unusual because he thought his mother would have been asleep.  
  
'Mom?' he called out. His voice sounded puny and weak.  
  
No one answered. And yet he knew she was home, because she wouldn't have left the lights on. She was real careful that way, with bills.  
  
'Mom?' he called again. The apartment was so small it was easy to navigate his way around, he was glad for that. He was aware that he was leaving bloody footprints on the threadbare carpet, he hoped she wasn't going to be too mad at him. He peeked into the one bedroom, she wasn't in there either, though the lights were on.  
  
There was only one place left she could be, if she was there at all. And he suddenly had a premonition that she was in the apartment, and the nightmare was not going to be over.  
  
'Mom?' His voice sounded very scared and very young to his own ears. He rushed to the one bathroom, and saw her sprawling there on the tiles dear God , a patch of bright red blood near where her head lay. There was blood all over the sink, blood on the toilet seat....it was all bright, bright red, he didn't know blood could look like that. And there were some awful flecks of he couldn't even bear to think what it could be dark red substance that looked like flesh, only it was flesh like he had never seen before, scattered all over the blood.  
  
He turned her over in despair (she was lying on her stomach), and her head flung backwards and hit the floor. The front of her dress he was thinking it was her blue dress, the one he thought she looked nice in, and the one she had like forever was covered with the same blood and the same flecks of fleshy substance, and when he felt her pulse, there was none.  
  
'No no no,' he howled. Not this, not tonight. Had they killed her? But how..he had just left them behind, unless they had done it earlier when he was attempting to visit Dash in the hospital. The images and possibilities were spinning round his head, making no coherence whatsoever. First Dash, and now this. Oh dear dear God please don't let it be true....  
  
He looked frantically for signs of a wound all over her dress and her body, but he found none..not that it mattered, there were other ways of killing a person, internal ones, he had learnt that from the streets....And he suddenly realized she was still warm, and hope ignited again, perhaps she had a chance....  
  
And he had the power.  
  
Placing his palm on the left side of her chest, he channeled. And felt the electricity sing through his body into hers, jerking her entire torso into an awful parody of what he had seen with defibrillators on TV. She did not respond.  
  
It wasn't enough, some rational part of him thought. He had to do CPR as well. Tipping her head backwards, he opened her mouth and placed his own over it, blowing hard into her lungs, tasting the metallic tang of her blood on his tongue. Again and again, wondering if he was doing the right thing or if he was botching it up. And he would be responsible for her death. He interspersed it with cardiac massage, fifteen to every two breaths, like he had been taught in martial arts school.  
  
And placing his hand on her chest, he shocked her again and again, not knowing how long this went on, only that it was long....and beyond the capacity for the human brain to be deprived of oxygen. Until in horror, he noted that he had burnt through the fabric of her dress where he had laid his palm on.  
  
He sank down on his haunches in a final moment of revelation - she was dead and there was nothing he could do to bring her back. He had screwed it up, trying to save her when he was such a screw up himself.....and he had killed her as surely as he had killed Dash and his stepfather. Was there no end to the nightmare? Perhaps it would be better for everyone if Frankie had killed him back in that dark little room.  
  
Perhaps it would be better for everyone now if he just lay down to die, next to her.  
  
Sinking slowly into further and further despondency, he lay himself next to her, stretching himself out, holding her hand in his, squeezing it as tightly as what was left of his strength would allow him. And as he bled his life blood out from his body to intermingle with hers - dark red upon bright red - he thought, Mom...I'm so sorry. I'll try to make it up to you. When I see you. Soon.  
  
*  
  
*  
  
*  
  
She might have to officially stop him from telling stories soon, the way they were going. This particular memory trip had left him shaken, and it was a while before he drifted to sleep. And when he finally did, she held him for a long time; she liked the feel of him in her arms, and if she could banish his nightmares by doing so, she would do it for as long as it took.  
  
When she was sure he was in a deep, deep sleep, she gingerly removed his head from her shoulder onto the pillow, taking care not to wake him, and got up. She was thirsty, and she needed a cool drink to calm her nerves.  
  
Wrapping herself in the white terrycloth bathrobe she had brought with her, she exited his room, making sure no one saw her. And padded her way down the cool corridor to the kitchen.  
  
She wasn't alone. At the kitchen table, Jesse was munching the remnants of a pizza boy, she thought, he sure liked pizza , one of those boxed ones that came in a supermarket freezer that you could only heat up in an oven, and not a microwave. She smiled at him, before realizing she was naked under her robe and smelling pungently of eucalyptus oil. Surely he had to notice. She felt her cheeks beginning to flush.  
  
He eyed her curiously. 'This your normal nightly get up?'  
  
'It's a girl thing,' she retorted, turning her back on him so he couldn't see her red face. She removed a bottle of orange juice from the refrigerator and drank from it straight.  
  
She could feel his eyes on her. 'Want some pizza, Em?'  
  
'No thanks.' She felt guilty for snapping at him. He was really very nice, one of the nicest people she knew. A lot nicer than Shalimar most of the time, and certainly a lot nicer than Brennan. In fact, she thought, that was the whole trouble with him. He was too nice, and as a result, everyone walked all over him, including Adam. People didn't notice you when you were nice and adaptable and accommodating. They only noticed you when you were a troublemaker, always dashing off to do your own thing and getting everyone else in a wrap wondering where you were, like Bren and Shalimar.  
  
She had hardly noticed him herself for the past couple of weeks, she had been so preoccupied with Brennan. This made her feel even guiltier.  
  
To make him feel better, she sat down at the table with him, watching him eat and smiling encouragingly. She supposed she must have looked pretty stupid and marmsy.  
  
He was really very handsome, she thought, in a way that was so different from Brennan, though his beauty was more understated, unlike Brennan's, which grabbed you immediately. No, Jesse's blond-haired, blue- eyed beauty was something you noticed over time (and especially when Brennan was not in the room). And when you did, it seized you and left you gasping, wondering why you never noticed it in the first place.  
  
There was a lot of angst behind those clear blue eyes. Jesse was extremely deep, he suffered greatly and silently, but he didn't let you know about it. Not (like Brennan) because he had an image to upkeep but because he didn't think his problems were worth bothering anyone about. He was self-deprecating that way.  
  
She knew he suffered from a huge lack of self-confidence, brought on by a poor little rich kid syndrome and a traitorous father; but mainly from being around Brennan and Adam, and maybe even Shalimar. Brennan was so alpha, so in your face; he actually zapped the energy out of a room when he was in it. Jesse was more moon-like compared to Brennan's exhaustive supernova, orbiting in the fringes, hardly ever the center of the universe, but no less important.  
  
She knew he loved Brennan, and resented him at the very same time. Envied him. It was such a complex love-hate relationship.  
  
He smiled back at her. And paused. Then remarked, 'You've been spending a lot of time with Brennan lately.'  
  
She wondered if he had picked up on them. And decided, no, it was just an innocent observation. She had been spending a lot of time with Brennan, even out of the bedroom.  
  
'He's just helping me through a rough patch, that's all.'  
  
An expression she couldn't define flitted across Jesse's features. 'You know, Emma, you can always tell me. I'm always here for you. I'm your friend too, you know.'  
  
'Yeah, I know. It's just that he's like a big brother to me.' Not anymore, he wasn't. She felt marginally guilty for lying.  
  
Jesse nodded. 'Okay.' He gathered the empty pizza foil and crumpled it. She caught another expression as he got up, was that hurt on his face? She didn't mean to hurt him, but that was all she seemed to be doing tonight. 'I'll go back to bed, it's really late. You have a good night.'  
  
'You have a good night too,' she replied, gathering her empty orange bottle and getting up herself. She wanted to be getting back to Brennan and holding him in her arms, and maybe to tease out a little love fantasy about him.  
  
She saw Jesse pause at the doorway, and make like he was about to say something. She looked up expectantly. But he seemed to change his mind, averting his head abruptly.  
  
As he walked away, she caught a wave of raw emotion - something that was so naked and tortured and stark she didn't even have to reach out to know it was there - and she took an involuntary step backwards, almost tottering over the chair.  
  
Gasping, she thought, Oh my God.....he's in love with me.  
  
TBC 


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8  
  
Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters, except for my own. The rest belong to Tribune Entertainment.  
  
Thanks so much all of you who wrote in to give me good wishes about my uncle. And hooray, my beta reader Amanda is back. Wrote the last 2 chapters without her guidance, and was a bit rudderless. I don't have that many chapters left to go now. Just bear with me. This story has been pre-planned from Chapter 1, and it's following its exact route so far. (In other words, please don't kill me if it doesn't turn out the way you like).  
  
As always, pls R & R.  
  
Rated PG-13  
  
'Brennan?' She didn't know quite how to ask this. But she desperately wanted to know. And she had to mask this, make it come out like it was something casual, or risk ruining it all for them. 'I know I asked about Dash, and how you never really loved her.' She paused, licking her dry lips. Was it going to be too obvious? 'Have you ever loved someone then? I mean, the head over heels falling in love sort of thing. And how did you know?'  
  
Please please don't say it's Shalimar, she begged. I don't think I can bear it.  
  
He contemplated this. 'If you're asking me if I've ever been in love with somebody....yes I have. But it's not a pretty story either.' He looked bemused. 'You sure you want to hear it?'  
  
She nodded. That gave her hope. She didn't really want to hear a present day story with him in love with someone else. The love thing was so complicated, it was tiring her out, wringing her emotions like a cloth squeezed dry of soapsuds. She didn't even want to think about it anymore..with Brennan and Jesse and this triangle thing that seemed to be going round and her being the only one aware of it.  
  
If only she had someone to share it with.  
  
Shalimar? Oh gad, no.  
  
'I'll tell you later, okay?' He kissed her cheek, and got off the bed. They were in her room this time; it was early morning and he had slept over after a bout of heavy session lovemaking (minus the final culmination, of course). He had explored her with his magic fingers and pronounced, 'You're a lot less tight than you used to be. It'll be soon, okay?' And he had given her a break from storytelling, because she had complained about how ghastly his stories were. At which he had quipped, 'But you wanted to know. And you asked. But I won't tell them anymore if you don't want me to.'  
  
'No,' she said immediately. 'I want to hear them.' She was loving this intimacy with him, sharing his life story. And she knew she never wanted it to end, so when he had mentioned the prophetic words 'It'll be soon', her heart sank into the pit of her stomach.  
  
She would rather remain a virgin forever than to have him end this.  
  
Was there a possible plan to prolong it? If she could fake it somehow?  
  
Almost instantaneously, she chided herself. That was not being honest, or even fair to him. He was helping her after all, and this was not the way to abuse their friendship. No....ultimately she had to feel her way around, be patient, and then finally tell him. Or choose never to tell him, and keep their friendship going like nothing had ever happened.  
  
She watched him go to the bathroom, and got off the bed. She desperately wanted to talk to somebody, to seek advice. Michelle? No, she had gone underground. They had relocated her to another state and her whereabouts were hush. Maybe one of her other friends.  
  
As she was sitting down at her computer terminal, she logged onto her Hotmail account, the one she kept for private e-mails. It was horribly unreliable, but at least she was keeping in touch with the world outside.  
  
She was pleased to note she actually got some mail besides the usual spam stuff. Her friend Karyn from college, a final year student now. Karyn was one of those girls who made her feel inferior without meaning to. While Emma had dropped out in her sophomore year - mainly because her powers were in flux, she was penniless (not wanting to take charity from her grandmother), confused, restless and she didn't think college was going to get her anywhere anymore - Karyn was bubbly, sorority queen and popular with both girls and guys. In many ways, she reminded Emma of that Reese Witherspoon character in Legally Blonde, the one who had everything going for her. Only Karyn was brunette and not half as pretty, though that never stopped the guys from going crazy about her. Karyn was special that way.  
  
And great, now she was going to marry her boyfriend and she was throwing a party at her campus sorority house to celebrate it.  
  
Emma supposed she ought to feel glad for Karyn, but she strangely (and selfishly, she thought) experienced only an emptiness for the life she could have had (and maybe the trappings that went along with it) had she not been Emma DeLauro.  
  
Oh great, now she was jealous of other people's good fortune. She was turning into someone she really didn't like at all.  
  
'You've got mail?' She felt a kiss on her neck and arms sliding around her shoulders. 'Anyone I know?'  
  
She took a deep breath. 'Just someone from college. She's asking me to go to a sorority party, but I'm going to say no.' She was feeling too depressed. And in those parties, there were always too many questions. Like 'Do you have a boyfriend?' Or 'Are you going to be married soon? I am. Look at my ring.' Or 'Are you planning on finishing college? Have you thought about your career? We're all going to law school, you know, and we're going to have such fabulous jobs.'  
  
What career? What prospects? And what boyfriend? Gad, she was a charity case if she ever knew one. She was even asking her best friend to help her out.  
  
'Why ever not?' he asked. 'Say yes, sorority parties are always fun. Plenty of booze and sex.'  
  
'Like you would know,' She rolled her eyes. Then again, he might.  
  
'No, I'm serious. Come on, I'll go with you. I'll be your date. And I promise,' he held up his hands, 'I won't even make nice with the college girls.'  
  
'Brennan, are you sure you don't have any ulterior motive in this? I mean, these are my friends, and I'd die if you embarrass me.'  
  
'Nah, college girls are not my thing.' He grinned. 'It's for you really, you need some time out.'  
  
The idea of going out on a date with him in public sounded really appealing, even if it was a pretend thing. She hesitated.  
  
'It's settled then,' he said, quickly kissing her on the lips. 'It'll be fun. But first, we have to get you something to wear.'  
  
*  
  
*  
  
*  
  
'The first time I fell in love, it was with someone totally unexpected,' Brennan said as they were driving out in his Camaro. Her going out shopping with a guy...it was unbelievable. But exciting anyway. As long as she got to spend more time with him.  
  
'After that hellish night that turned my world inside out, I awoke in a hospital, the very same one Dash was in, and the very one they took my mother to so many years ago the night I killed my stepfather. Turns out the Hispanic neighbors found my bloody palm prints all over our door the next morning, and my footprints down the hallway. I made such a mess it took them probably days to clean up after. Anyhow, they thought it was a big murder case, not unusual in that apartment block, and they alerted the police. Guess who came?'  
  
When he woke up, Detective Javier was standing at his bedside with the doctor. They both looked a little surprised, as though they didn't expect him to ever wake up again.  
  
Heck, he surprised even himself. He certainly thought he was going to die. And now he wished he had.  
  
Disorientation immediately set in, and as he waded through the bits and pieces of post-traumatic memories, he realized he was attached to several intravenous drips, one of them connecting a pack of blood. His chest was bandaged tightly, as were his legs; a tube was attached to his right side, and as he breathed, it bubbled into some closed water jar next to the bed.  
  
Strangely, he didn't feel much pain. Instead, he was feeling a little euphoric.  
  
'My mom...' he immediately tried to say.  
  
The doctor placed a hand on his shoulder, 'Don't try to move. We almost lost you. You've lost a lot of blood and you almost went into shock. We had to do surgical repair on your wounds, and you've had a pneumothorax, so we had to put that little tube in your chest to drain it. We also gave you some morphine, so that'll settle you for a while.  
  
'My mom,' he mumbled again, his voice coming out gutturally. His throat was extremely dry.  
  
The doctor squeezed his shoulder in sympathy. 'I'm sorry, kid. She's dead. We'll get a counselor in to see you, okay? And maybe another doctor for you to talk to.'  
  
Brennan's eyes flitted to Detective Javier's wry face. 'I didn't kill her.'  
  
'What makes you think we think you did?'  
  
The doctor shot a warning glance at Javier. 'Perhaps you'd better leave. I won't have you interfering with my patient.'  
  
Javier held up his hands. 'Okay, I'll leave.' To Brennan, he added, 'Your mom wasn't murdered, kid. The autopsy came back. She died of a ruptured artery in her lung. She had been having tuberculosis for years. Did you know that?'  
  
He didn't. The awful reality of it spilled in: her coughing at night, the circles under her eyes due to fatigue...and he had thought she was just getting old. Oh God....  
  
'Why..why then...' he stammered, 'are you here?'  
  
'It was reported in as a murder case, so I investigated it. And besides, your name was on the file. I told you I had my eye out for you, kid. I still do. And I'll be watching.'  
  
Brennan felt a frisson of fear running down his spine.  
  
'Detective, you'll have to leave,' the doctor insisted.  
  
'Cheerios, kid,' Javier saluted as he walked out the door. 'Sorry about your mom. Be seeing you around.'  
  
*  
  
'You know you can't go around blaming yourself forever,' the psychiatrist told him. It was his third week in the hospital. 'You didn't know how to diagnose tuberculosis. And you have to eat something.'  
  
He lay there despondently, not answering, not looking at the shrink. The truth had finally sunk in. His mom was dead. When he had asked about Dash, they told him exchanging glances with each other that she was alive, but in a coma. Apparently, the bleeding had deprived some part of her brain of oxygen, and she had had a stroke (they called it an 'infarct'). So he was responsible for that as well.  
  
He didn't know if it was possible for his world to sink any lower. And if he never understood depression before, he understood it now. It was indescribable, this incredible lack of feeling....this apathy, like his limbs were moving in a gel-like substance, and he could actually watch them move with a compressed surreal quality. It was as though he had no volition to speak, to move, to eat, to sleep, or even to blink his eyelids. He spent his entire days looking at the wall, staring in an open-eyed gaze, seeing nothing there at all, thinking about nothing.  
  
They pumped him full of antidepressants, and took to hiding sharp objects from him, afraid he might attempt suicide. The truth was, he was feeling so worthless he didn't even think he was worth killing. It was a lot easier to lie down here..and waste away....  
  
They sent a social worker to see him. Her name was Mrs. Lipinski, and she was a brown-eyed brunette in her late 30's. He remembered thinking she had very patient eyes, even though they had slight wrinkles around them.  
  
'Brennan?' she said, holding his hand. 'They told me you won't eat.' She indicated the parenteral nutrition drip, which was now running into a central venous line through his arm, since his peripheral veins had all clotted themselves away. 'You haven't eaten for three weeks now. You can't go on like this. They are going to have to force-feed you soon.'  
  
He didn't want to look at her either. He stared at a space on the wall blankly.  
  
'Do you want to talk about what you're going to do after this?' Hearing only silence from him, she continued. 'Do you want to talk about the assault?'  
  
He hadn't talked to anyone about the assault. Since he didn't press charges, and since nobody had reported anything linked to his case, nobody asked him after a while, particularly when he was immersed in this catatonic state.  
  
He had to admire her for her persistence. Although he didn't talk to her for the first five visits, she kept on coming back to see him every day.  
  
On her sixth visit, she brought him ice-cream.  
  
'If you don't eat it, it'll melt,' she said solemnly. 'Come on, I'll take one spoonful....' He watched her dip the wooden spoon into the ice- cream (it was Rocky Road, his favorite, he wondered how she knew that) and put it into her mouth. '..and you take the other.' She handed a spoonful to him.  
  
He decided to speak for the first time in weeks. 'I might have TB.' His own voice rang in his ears, and his tongue felt funny when he tried to move it. 'They're treating me with antibiotics.'  
  
She looked at him carefully. 'I'll take the risk, if it'll get you eating again.'  
  
He looked into her eyes, they were the kindest eyes he had ever seen. And decided to trust her. After all, he had no one else in the world, and perhaps the time had come for healing again. Deep down inside, he knew he was a survivor. There was a vitality in him pulsing away too strongly to be denied for long, and it was returning, slowly but surely. His mom would have wanted it that way.  
  
With her spoon-feeding him, he finished the ice-cream.  
  
Next, she helped him through rehab. His broken ribs had set slowly, though his leg muscles had wasted with disuse. Now that he was eating again, he found some strength to push himself up to walk.  
  
'We're going to have to find a foster home for you,' she said. Something about him had touched her, he decided, she seemed to be spending more time with him than with her other charges. Maybe it was the hopelessness. 'Don't worry, we'll find you a good one.'  
  
They discharged him when they were sure he didn't have tuberculosis. He had lost a great amount of weight; his clothes were hanging slack on his frame. And she was waiting for him at the nurse's counter. He belonged to the welfare department now.  
  
'I'm going to buy you a nice meal,' she said. 'How do burgers and fries sound to you?'  
  
After the hospital food, he was ravenous. As he sat across from her at the table, devouring the biggest meal he had eaten in months, he realized her face was flushed with pleasure. She liked doing this, he thought. She liked being nice to him. And somehow the world didn't seem so bad anymore.  
  
'I'm going to have to ask you to do me a favor,' she said when he had finished. 'It'll take some time to find a foster home for you, so I'll have to ask you to stay in an orphanage for a while.'  
  
The word 'orphan' suddenly struck home, pierced his heart deeply like it had been a knife. He hadn't even seen his mother's body. They had cremated her.  
  
The sorrow was now coming back to him in waves.  
  
'But I'll come and see you every day,' she said in a rush when she saw his face. Maybe she was afraid to trip him into another bout of depression. 'And we'll go out like this. I promise.'  
  
He stayed at the orphanage, simply because he had nowhere else to go to. He didn't want to go back to school; he had too much history there, and it wouldn't do if everyone were to look at him as Dash's tormentor. So Mrs. Lipinski obliged him. And she did keep her promise to come see him everyday.  
  
'But when we find you a foster home,' she said, 'you'll have to go back to school. Another school, depending on what city you'll live in.'  
  
City? He didn't really want to go away. This was his home for as long as he could remember. And besides, what if he never saw her again? She reminded him of his mom, although she was a little older, and she had been the only person who seemed to care about him since his mom died.  
  
'She found me a home finally,' Brennan told Emma. 'Seems no one was that keen to have me, with that questionable history and everything. It was in another town. And I think that was when I became angry with life in general, and how fate had dealt me these cards. So I took it out on everybody around me.'  
  
He was indeed angry, though it didn't feel like anger at that time. He manifested it in a cavalier callousness, a ready predatory grin, and a newfound sarcasm that came easily to him. It was easy, being this new person. He just didn't have to care or feel for anybody.  
  
After a few months, he was expelled from his new school for fighting and hurting a couple of the other boys. His foster parents hauled him back to Mrs. Lipinski.  
  
'He's uncontrollable,' they complained. 'He won't listen to us...and in a hushed tone we daren't discipline him because of his psychological past.'  
  
'Oh dear,' Mrs. Lipinski said. 'He's really such a nice boy. I can't imagine what he must have been thinking.'  
  
She found him another foster home in yet another town. A few months later, they hauled him back again. They had caught him having sex on the couch with his foster sister.  
  
'Oh dear, Brennan,' Mrs. Lipinski said. 'Why in the world would you want to do something like that? You know what happened with Dash.' He knew she never recovered from her brain damage, she was permanently paralyzed .  
  
It was protected sex, he wanted to say. I'll never have unprotected sex with anyone again. But it was pointless, he knew she was going to send him away again.  
  
And of course she did.  
  
He was toting up a string of foster homes longer than his list of girlfriends, and that was considerable.  
  
'It was a very unfeeling period for me,' he explained to Emma. 'I had no roots, and each place was just a temporary respite. I had no time to get to know anybody really well before I screwed something up on purpose. Then I would get sent back to welfare again. Every single one of my foster parents thought I was a hood after getting to know me, and they were afraid I would hurt somebody in their family pretty bad. They were right too.'  
  
Besides, he had found an enjoyable new pastime.  
  
He remembered the first episode. He was walking down the streets; it had just rained and there were slush puddles everywhere. He was on the curb when a fancy car screeched into a parking halt two feet away from him, sploshing his jeans all over with muddy water.  
  
'Hey!' he yelled.  
  
The driver got out - it was a man in a business suit toting a briefcase. He looked at his watch, slammed the door and locked it with his remote.  
  
'Sorry kid. Gotta run.'  
  
He walked briskly away, leaving Brennan soaking and very, very cross.  
  
'What a mistake that was,' Brennan remarked. 'At sixteen, I was one person you didn't want to tread toes with.'  
  
He turned to look at the car. It was a BMW, 7 series, metallic gray. Through the window, he could see a cellphone on the seat and what looked like cash sticking out of the center console. Boy, some people were careless.  
  
It was so very very easy. All he had to do was cross the threshold. It was like an invisible line, a barrier, and it was surprisingly easy how fast he made up his mind to go over it.  
  
He looked up and down the street, made sure no one saw him, and shot a tiny bolt of electricity at the locking device. With one beep, the car unlocked itself. Casually he opened the door and got in.  
  
He took a deep breath. This was it. There was no going back. Besides, he didn't want to. They had so much, and he had so little. He had to even out the odds in life in some way.  
  
He took all the cash, the cellphone, the GPS decoder he found in the glove compartment. And heck, he thought, why stop there? With a dexterity that amazed even him, he started to disconnect the radio.  
  
'So that's how you became a career criminal?' Emma asked.  
  
'It was a start. I got more sophisticated as I grew up.'   
  
He found himself a fence to sell all the stuff he stole. It was so easy, finding street connections and becoming part of the underworld. They roped him in as part of a consortium and he became their most successful petty thief.  
  
'I was raking in good money,' Brennan said. 'Unbelievable for a kid my age who didn't have rich parents. Life was good to me. I had my pick of as many easy girls as I wanted and some of the not so easy ones as well. Nobody messed with me because of my size, and even my foster parents were leery of me.'  
  
It didn't last of course. One day, his foster mother looked under his bed, found the envelope he stashed all his money in (he wasn't too keen on banks either), decided he had procured it through ill gotten means and hauled him back to welfare.  
  
'You're lucky they didn't call the police,' Mrs. Lipinski said. 'Oh Brennan, what's happening to you? You're turning into someone I don't know at all.'  
  
He sat in the counseling room across from her and looked down at his hands.  
  
She sighed. 'Now no one will have you. And the orphanages are full at the moment. What am I going to do with you?'  
  
'You don't have to do anything for me,' he blurted. 'I can live on the streets.'  
  
'That's exactly what I don't want happening.' She looked at him in despair. 'I don't know why I feel so responsible for you but I do. I guess you're going to have to come home with me. But just until I find you something.'  
  
His spirits picked up.  
  
'But I need to be able to trust you, okay?' She gave him a questioning glance.  
  
'I won't steal anything from you, if that's what you're asking.'  
  
She had the sense to look embarrassed.  
  
'It was the first time I'd seen her home,' Brennan said to Emma. 'And the first time I realized she had a life outside her social work. Every time we talked, it had all been about me and never about her. I had wondered who her husband was, and if she had any children. In all the years I'd known her, I never thought to ask.'   
  
Mrs. Lipinski lived in an apartment with two bedrooms. The first thing Brennan noticed on the walls of the hallway were rows and rows of photographs. They were all of a boy of varying ages - a toddler with a toy, the same boy in an inflated swimming pool, slightly older, the boy in a uniform in front of a school. Pictures of the boy with a younger Mrs. Lipinski against myriad backgrounds: a mountain chalet, a beach, a Chinese restaurant.  
  
'Is this your son?' he asked.  
  
'That's Benjamin,' she said quietly. 'Yes, he was my son. He died many years ago of leukemia. He would have been around your age if he'd survived.'  
  
He felt acutely uncomfortable. 'I'm sorry.'  
  
She gave a sad little smile. 'Don't be. It happened a long time ago.'  
  
'And your husband? There are no pictures of him.' He knew he was being nosy, but he couldn't help himself.  
  
'We got divorced soon after Benjy died. I never really recovered, and Cliff - he couldn't take it.'  
  
Now he was feeling really bad. 'I'm sorry,' he said again.  
  
She raised her hand to pat his cheek. 'You're a really nice boy, no matter what they say about you. Let me show you to your room.'  
  
'Mrs Lipinski?' He hesitated.  
  
'You can call me Maria.'  
  
'Maria....' The name felt foreign to his tongue. 'I can live with you here...if you like .. I mean if you're lonely and everything...and you can adopt me.....if you like...' His words came tumbling out in a rush, he didn't quite know why he said that. Only that he suddenly regretted saying it, because he was now dreading to hear the rejection that would inevitably follow.  
  
'Oh Brennan...' He flinched physically as she reached out to touch him. 'I didn't know you felt that way. Come here.' And she drew him into her arms and hugged him.  
  
As he hugged her back, her head against his chest, his nose in her hair, imbibing the smell of her clean shampoo, he realized that he desperately, desperately loved her. And that it was a kind of love that should have, he thought, been forbidden in this situation. It wasn't the love of a son for a surrogate mother, or even that of a boy for a counselor who had been kind to him; but that of a man for a woman. He had probably been in love with her since the day she coaxed him out of his shell with the ice cream. It just took him two years to understand that.  
  
'I love you,' he whispered against her hair, wondering if she knew what he really meant.  
  
Oh, what tangled webs they weaved.  
  
*  
  
*  
  
*  
  
'Emma?'  
  
Shalimar was standing at the door of her bedroom. Emma was in the midst of unpacking her shopping bags, and there were boxes and paper strewn all over her bed. The afternoon had been fun, with Brennan choosing out a couple of racy outfits for her and getting her to try them on. 'You want to impress your friends, don't you?' 'I do,' she replied, 'but I don't think looking like a hooker will do it.' 'Oh believe me,' he said, 'hookers impress people plenty.' And got into the changing room with her, whispering 'This is giving me such a hard-on,' eliciting disapproving stares from the sales people around them.  
  
Oh yup, shopping with Brennan was exciting.  
  
'Oh hi Shal. Wanna see what I got?' She thought she probably shouldn't mention she went shopping with Brennan. But if it came up, she could always say they went their separate ways and met up again at an appointed spot.  
  
'Maybe later.' Shalimar came in and sat on her bed.  
  
Emma paused. That was unlike Shalimar. Her blonde friend usually devoured the contents of other people's shopping bags before they themselves could get into them. 'You okay, Shal?'  
  
Shalimar sighed and shrugged. 'It's probably nothing. And anyway, I shouldn't bother you.'  
  
She made no move to leave nonetheless. Emma sat down next to her and took her hand. This usually meant Shal wanted to talk, which wasn't often because she was quite a private person. With her own affairs anyway.  
  
Emma stroked Shal's hair, deciding for the umpteeth time how lovely it was. Such beautiful blonde waves, twirling so prettily at the edges. She wished she had hair like that. She had always envied Shal. Her friend was so beautiful, so composed, so confident; so everything she wanted to be and was not.  
  
After a long silence, Shal said, 'It's about Brennan.'  
  
Emma felt her heart skip a beat.  
  
Shalimar continued, not noticing. 'He's been a little....different lately. I don't know how to describe it. But it's like...he's more contained. He's calmer, and happier.'  
  
Emma's pulse was racing in her neck. 'What do you mean?'  
  
'Well, you know how he's been a little edgy the past few months, almost like he's angry sometimes.' Emma nodded. 'All that's vanished now. Like he's found some inner peace within himself. And,' Shalimar shook her head, 'I don't know. Like I said, I can't really describe it.'  
  
Did she dare hope? She gave a strangled laugh. 'You mean like he's joined some cult or something?'  
  
Shalimar smiled sadly. 'I wish. But I don't think so. I think it's a woman.'  
  
Emma froze. After a beat, she decided to say, 'But he's always had plenty of women.'  
  
'Not like this.' Shalimar closed her eyes. 'This is different. I know it. I'm a feral, I can sense things like this.'  
  
Emma looked nervously around the bedroom. She didn't know the extent of Shal's powers. Would she, for example, be able to detect his scent on the sheets, his special musky tang that could not be masked by any aftershave? Emma was glad now she was such a neat freak. She had insisted on changing the bed sheets every time they made love. She was toting up quite a laundry log.  
  
'You know, Shal. You never really talked about how you feel about Brennan. Everyone just assumes you have an on and off thing, and right now it's on off mode. Because of all the people he's been seeing. And the fact you're flirting with other people.' That's right, she thought, heart pounding. Go on the offensive again. Boy, she was getting good at this.  
  
Shalimar curled her knees up against her chest and hugged them. She suddenly looked like a lost little girl.  
  
'How I feel about Brennan?' She shook her hair, the expression on her face taking on a wistful note. 'I've never told anyone how I feel about Brennan. But I suppose this is about a good time as any.' She drew a deep breath.  
  
And said simply, 'I love him. I love him with every fiber of my being. I love him like I've never loved anyone before. It was different with Richard, that was more...chemical. More animal...like we'd been two ferals made for each other. With Brennan, it's different. It's like a love grown over time, when we were still feeling each other out and probing. It's chemistry of a different sort, because we're a breed apart. It's chemistry like...even when there's not supposed to be chemistry, you know what I mean?'  
  
Licking her lips and feeling a sinking pang in her heart, Emma nodded.  
  
'I wondered about the same things over and over again,' Shalimar continued. 'Like is it carnal? I mean, I've always been the sucker for the tall, dark handsome type. And then I figured, it's beyond that. I mean, I desire him, I have no doubts about that. I want him. I want to feel his arms around me; I want him to make love to me wildly, passionately; with reckless abandon like we're two ferals in heat. Even though he's not technically a feral. And yet, I've never acted upon it. Because I was afraid I would lose him.... like with all the men I've loved.. and because we're teammates, I knew we couldn't just walk away.'  
  
She looked at Emma expectantly. 'Do you know how that feels? Lusting after somebody and not acting on it because you didn't want to lose their friendship?'  
  
Emma shook her head. She wouldn't know. She had crossed that line long ago. And right now, all she could do was listen with an escalating combination of fascination and horror. She had suspected this all along, but to actually have it declared to her very own ears....  
  
'I don't know what he feels about me,' Shalimar said. She kept her eyes hidden behind the veil of her hair, but Emma could see them glistening. 'I thought he had a thing...for such a long time he was acting funny around me, you know, like he was all possessive and jealous-like, and at the same time, caring and warm. He can be so caring, you know, to the point of being chauvinistic....but it sure makes a girl feel all special and tingly, even though she knows she can take care of herself. It's like he's one of those old movie superheroes. The kind we secretly want all men to be.'  
  
She bowed her head. 'We even kissed..once. A little peck on the lips, nothing earth-shattering. And all those times, all that flirting and teasing. I enjoyed that. I think he enjoyed it too. But it got to the point it became stagnant, and we had either to take it up a notch, or go down. I made a decision....at that time, I thought I would go for it. And then, of course, before I could do anything, he had to hurt me.'  
  
Emma clasped Shalimar's hand, intertwining her fingers through her own. She dreaded to hear the answer. 'Which one? Lorna, Miranda or Becky? Or....someone else?'  
  
Shalimar sighed. 'Lorna I could accept. He was coerced against his will. With Becky it was just a historical thing. No, it was Miranda. He did that out of his own free will. And after that, I don't think he looked back. They just came piling up. And I knew I did the right thing by not acting on it. Because he would have hurt me, and kept on hurting me. He's just one of those guys you don't want to mess around with if you have feelings.'  
  
'But Shal,' Emma ventured hesitantly. 'You flirt with other guys too.'  
  
'Oh Emma,' Shalimar gave a nervous laugh, 'don't you know what girls do already? That was in retaliation. I did it to make him notice me.'  
  
And he does it to make you notice him, Emma thought. What a dreadful spiral. Was she then one of his statistics? She didn't want to think that she was....it was too horrible to think of it that way.  
  
Looking at Shalimar, she suddenly felt like the lowest of pit creatures. It was no use justifying it with a 'But I thought you didn't want him.' At some level, between the layers of denial, she had always known. She had betrayed Shalimar, as surely as the sky was blue and she was pond scum. It was like that line in that movie..what was it again? My Best Friend's Wedding. He's got you on a pedestal, and me in his arms.  
  
And God help her, but she didn't want to let him go. She loved him, wanted him too much to be denied this newfound joy. And she liked to believe that somewhere along the line, he loved her in return. No, this was not something she was going to give up. She couldn't give him up, he had melded himself in her bones and become a part of her. Oh Shal..Shal....she thought, I'm sorry...I'm so sorry....  
  
Aloud she asked. 'Do you still love him?'  
  
When before her friend's eyes merely glistened, now a single tear pooled over and ran down her cheek. 'I do. I'm such an idiot, I know. But I still love him, even though I know it's probably too late for me, now that he's found someone else. So you see, he's breaking my heart even before I ever gave it to him.'  
  
They hugged each other, both with vastly conflicting emotions. Emma closed her eyes. She couldn't think about it...didn't want to think about it anymore.  
  
'And besides,' said Shalimar in a choked voice against her ear, 'if I ever find out who she is, I swear I will kill her.'  
  
TBC 


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9  
  
Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters, except for my own. The rest belong to Tribune Entertainment.  
  
My goodness, what a week! I'm in the middle of a deadly SARS viral outbreak and everyone around me is panicking. It does screw my life up entirely. I can't even go to shopping malls anymore without a mask, we've given all the field staff a holiday and my company is thinking of putting me in quarantine just because I've visited 2 afflicted countries in the past 2 weeks. Oh well, if I'm going to be in quarantine, at least I'll have more time to write.  
  
Pls R & R to cheer me up.  
  
Rated PG-13, R at the end for deviant sex.  
  
'If you knew you were in love with someone,' Emma asked Brennan one week later, her heart palpitating in her chest, 'would you act on it?'  
  
They were in his car en route to Karyn's sorority party.  
  
'You mean to ask me...have I acted upon it?'  
  
Well yes, she thought restlessly. Past, present, whatever. Just give me a clue what goes on in that mind of yours.  
  
'Actually, I was in two minds about it. With Mrs. Lipinski, I was afraid of being hurt.' He gave a short laugh. 'Imagine me..I'm used to hurting other people, and I'm not proud of it. But afraid of getting hurt myself. It was such an irony.'  
  
For the next few months, he stayed with Maria Lipinski, seeing her every day when she came home from work and he from school. Watching her as she bustled around the kitchen, making them dinner; him offering to dice the carrots for her and strain the peas. Being near her as she spooned out the gravy for the potatoes, their hands touching as he held out the dish.  
  
He did not bring up the subject of adoption again. Now that he realized he was in love with her, it was too mortifying, almost like incest. And she didn't volunteer the topic either. Perhaps she too knew it was futile; someone with his recklessness would only hurt any mother. And she couldn't bear to be hurt anymore, not since she lost her own son. To lose one's child; it was an event so tragic that its echoes transcended the years, leaving a patina of sorrow that could never be erased. And after such a memory, she would naturally be wary to love another child again.  
  
So he could only hope that she would tarry on, never being able to find him a foster home. After all, he was already sixteen, two years to adulthood and being his own man in the eyes of the state. And he could live with her until then, he thought, and be allowed to love her. And after that....  
  
'Brennan, you have stopped stealing, haven't you?' she asked him one day.  
  
He had, for a while. He didn't want her to send him away again.  
  
'Well, you've got to find yourself something to do. You're here with me, night after night. Surely a boy your age would want to go out.'  
  
Not really, he thought. I'm exactly where I want to be, with you. Besides, if he went out, he would be tempted to hook up with some of his friends again, and he would probably gravitate back towards thieving. Or street fighting.  
  
She reached out to hold his hand. 'I'm proud of you. And I don't want you to do this for me. You've got to want to do this for yourself.'  
  
He nodded, afraid she would give him the 'you've got a future ahead of you' spiel. The truth was, he didn't want to think too much about the future. The present was complicated enough.  
  
If only there wasn't such an age difference. If only he had been older, or she younger. If only the circumstances had been different and she didn't see him so much as a delinquent teenager who needed to be taken under her wing. He had only himself to blame for that. There were so many 'if only's.'  
  
Truth be told, he didn't mind the twenty four-odd years difference in age between them. He was only worried that she minded. And he was concerned that she would never see him as anything other than the little boy in the hospital bed who liked Rocky Road ice cream.  
  
He wondered if he dared to act on it. How would she react if he told her straight out, when they having dinner, that he was in love with her? Or maybe when they were out walking in the park? Would she dismiss it as a silly teenage infatuation? He couldn't bear to be laughed at; his love for her was very real and important to him and just because he was sixteen, rejection wouldn't hurt any less.  
  
But then he was a doer, his mother had always said. He was always one to make things happen, he didn't want to sit back passively and wait. It usually proved to be his undoing in a lot of things. He hoped this wasn't going to be one of them.  
  
'Are you seeing anyone, Brennan?' she asked him one day when they were sitting on the couch watching TV.  
  
He pondered on how to answer this. 'Not technically, no.' He wasn't counting all those quickie sessions during break. All those girls didn't mind anyway that he didn't love them; they were just using him as much as he was using them, and they were probably bragging about it too. At least, he would like to think it was as easy as that.  
  
'Don't hurt anyone too much, Brennan,' she said, stroking his cheek. 'It's just that the human heart, at your age... it can be broken so easily.'  
  
What about my heart? he thought. Would anyone care about breaking it?  
  
He said desperately, 'Maria, if you were in love with someone, would you tell them?'  
  
She seemed to give this serious consideration. Then she nodded. 'Yes I would tell them. I would have to be honest with myself, if nothing else. And I would like to know where I stand; if there was a possible future, or if I had to reluctantly but surely move on. It's easier said than done, but it's for the best.'  
  
He felt his heart throbbing painfully. He had to do it before he lost his nerve.  
  
Turning to her, he held her face in his hands and kissed her long and deeply. Before she could gasp out in surprise, he kissed her again, amazed at the passion that arose within him.  
  
'Brennan?' Her palms were on his chest, resisting. 'What're you doing?'  
  
'I love you.' He didn't quite know what else to say. 'Please please let me love you.'  
  
And with that, he kissed her again, feeling her lips yield against his. He didn't want to overwhelm her with his physical need, but he didn't know how else to express himself. So he kissed her and kissed her, each kiss more hungry than the next, until he was devouring her mouth and pushing her down onto the couch; fumbling at the buttons on her blouse and the clasp of her skirt. Fearing that any moment she would ask him to stop, because he didn't quite know if he could stop.  
  
She sighed, seeming to make up her mind about something, and surrendered to him. Throwing her head back, she allowed him to rain kisses on her neck, and peel her blouse back to expose her bra. No words, the way he liked it in those days, because words complicated things. And right now, he was in wonderland, because for the first time in his life, he was making love to a woman he loved; and it made the experience all the more sensuous, like he was on a heightened plane of rapture.  
  
When he entered her, she cried out; and he was afraid he had hurt her. But she reassured him by pulling on his buttocks, drawing him deeper into her, until he felt himself drowning. He didn't want to disappoint her by releasing himself too early, so he held back as long as he could. He wanted to make this experience as memorable for her as it was for him, so he employed all his considerable skills to vary and prolong it; making sure she cried out again several times before he allowed himself to climax.  
  
As he lay back panting, his body covered in a sheen of sweat, his limbs still entwined with hers, she said: 'We shouldn't have done that.'  
  
How could a manifestation of love be wrong? 'Why do you say that?'  
  
'Because..it was wrong of me to take advantage of you.' She turned her head away, not meeting his eyes. 'But I was lonely, so very lonely...and it has been so long since someone touched me that way. Though that's no excuse.'  
  
He put out a hand to stroke her hair. 'I love you. I've been in love with you since the day you rescued me. You didn't take advantage of me. I was afraid I was taking advantage of you.'  
  
She shook her head. 'It was very wrong of me. But you're so very beautiful, I couldn't help myself.' She gazed into his eyes. 'That's why I don't think having you here is a good idea. I'll always be tempted to think of you as more than someone I'm supposed to be in charge of. It'll never work out.'  
  
A sliver of dread crept up his spine. Please please don't let her say it. He was beginning to regret being impulsive now. 'What do you mean?'  
  
She sat him up, and cupped his face in her hands. 'Brennan, look at you. You're sixteen. A very grown-up and sexually mature sixteen, granted, but you're still sixteen. I'm forty. I'm old enough to be your mother. What does that tell you?'  
  
He was ready for that. 'But it doesn't matter to me. As long as I love you..I could make you so happy, and you don't have to be so lonely anymore..' His voice faltered. 'You don't even have to love me back, not in that way..you can just use me...I can live with that...'  
  
'Oh Brennan.' There were tears in her eyes. 'You don't know what you're saying. You deserve so much better than that. What are you going to say when you are twenty-six, and I'm fifty? Or when you're thirty-six, in the prime of your life, and I'm sixty? You don't want to be saddled with a menopausal old woman, and you're going to wonder why you are.'  
  
He closed his eyes. There was a physical pain in his chest; he knew it was a metaphor but he could literally feel his heart breaking. 'You're going to send me away, aren't you?'  
  
'I'm going to have to find you a shelter, yes. If I can't find you another foster home. It's for the best.'  
  
He averted his face from her. He didn't know it was possible to hurt this badly. Was this what Dash went through? In any case, he deserved it. He deserved every bit of it.  
  
'Brennan...I'm sorry...'  
  
He could feel her hands on his chest but he pushed them away. And swallowed. 'It's okay. I'll be all right. Just....give me a moment to be alone.'  
  
She nodded. 'If it's any help, even if you don't stay here with me, I'll always be here for you.'  
  
Picking up his clothes from the floor like so many pieces of pain and refusing to look at her, he walked out of the room, not really noticing where he was going. If this was what falling in love was all about, he was going to make damned well sure he would never do it again.  
  
*  
  
*  
  
Listening to this, Emma felt a sense of foreboding. It was at the tip of her tongue. She wanted to ask him, 'And after you made that resolution, have you broken it? Is it possible for you to love again?' After all, it was a long time ago. But she knew him. He carried scars he did not speak of, or even acknowledge he had them. He was stubborn that way. But they had arrived and she kept her mouth shut. A different sense of foreboding was now looming in front of her.  
  
'Brennan, you're not going to embarrass me in front of my friends, are you?' The dress he chose for her was embarrassing enough. She wore a red spaghetti-strapped cocktail number that clung to her body like a leech. Her lipstick was blood red and for contrast, he selected a black string choker for her neck that was so tight her throat felt constricted.  
  
'How would I embarrass you? You're going to look beautiful.' He pecked her on the cheek, taking care not to smudge her lipstick.  
  
With his arm around her waist, she rang the bell of the sorority house she had never been a part of. Inside she could hear raucous laughter and the thumping beat of techno. This was so not her scene. She was beginning to wonder if anyone would hear the bell over the din, when the door opened and someone screamed.  
  
'Emma!' The whirlwind that was her friend Karyn embraced her. Yup, that was Karyn's specialty; making you feel as though you were the only person worth caring about in the world. No wonder everyone loved her. 'You look so gorgeous!'  
  
'Congratulations on getting engaged,' Emma said, hugging her friend back. She wouldn't have minded coming if it had been Karyn alone. It was the others she couldn't bear.  
  
'Well, it's been like forever you know for Jimmy and me...it's about time he popped the question. And who's your friend?' She glanced bemusedly at Brennan.  
  
'I'm Emma's fiancé, Brennan,' he said before she could even open her mouth, taking hold of Karyn's hand and shaking it.  
  
Karyn turned sparkling eyes on Emma. 'Oh my goodness, this is absolutely fabulous. You didn't tell me you were getting married?'  
  
Uh, Emma thought, I didn't know I was getting married either. And with all her emotions tied up in a painful knot over him, for a moment she thought and hoped that he was serious; until she saw him wink at her; and she knew it was part of this big scheme he had to embarrass her despite all her protestations.  
  
Oh damn his eyes.  
  
'Well Emma,' Karyn took her hand and Brennan's to usher them into the house, 'this is great news. Hey everyone!' she shouted before Emma could stop her. 'Look who's here. It's Emma and she's brought her fiancé!'  
  
As everyone she knew - and didn't know - came to gush and give her best wishes, crowding around them like ants at a picnic, Emma felt herself sinking into a hole. She was so going to kill him for this. She didn't honestly know how she would last the night. As she expected, the rapid-fire twenty questions were coming. Where did you meet him? What does he do for a living? Where have you been since quitting college? Do you have a job? Where did you find him? Are there more where he came from?  
  
Pleading faintness, she begged to go to the restroom. She had to compose herself, compose a story, and pick up the first sharp instrument to stab him (and herself) with. They always say you hurt the ones you love, and she was going to make damned well sure she joined that bandwagon.  
  
It was a mistake, leaving him alone. When she came out, he was seated in an armchair, twirling a can of beer in his hand and surrounded by a circle of her former female acquaintances, including Karyn.  
  
He was saying, 'Emma and I met at a party like this. The moment I laid eyes on her from across the room, I knew she was "the one." It was incredible, you know, how people talk about love at first sight?' They nodded breathlessly. 'Well I didn't think it would happen to me, but there she was. And I just knew..wham..it hit me.'  
  
'Wow,' someone said. 'Was it love at first sight for Emma too?'  
  
She fully expected him to say, 'Why don't you ask her? She's standing over there.' But he didn't. Instead he intoned ruefully, 'No, I'm afraid not. She was with this older guy, rich as Croessus. He adored her and she had only eyes for him. I didn't think I stood a chance.'  
  
Emma gripped the back of a chair. He was so making her sound like a gold digger.  
  
'You've got to be kidding me,' another of her friends quipped. 'But you're so..wow.'  
  
'Well, it was a couple of years back and at that time, I was only a medical student.'  
  
Emma choked.  
  
'You're a doctor?' everyone chorused.  
  
'Uh huh. But not at that time. I was trying to work my way through med school when I met Emma. In that party, I was on the stage, performing.'  
  
'You're a performer too?' asked someone.  
  
'Yup, I was actually doing erotic dancing, 'cause the tips were good, if you know what I mean.' Emma almost swallowed her tongue. 'I was wearing this tight black G-string with metal studs on it and a black leather slave collar with a ring. I had these leather armbands and black knee length boots, and nothing else on. I was up there on the stage, doing this little S&M dance routine with a whip. And she didn't even notice me.'  
  
There were more than a few shocked gasps. Brennan was in a decent black tank top (albeit a tight one) and jeans, but all rounded eyes were now riveted to his body, lingering on his chest and crotch. Gad, she thought in disgust, they were practically mind-raping him. Which was of course his intended reaction.  
  
There was a rush of breathless questions. 'Wow, like, would you care to do a demo for us?' And 'How much do you charge for a performance? Maybe we should take a pool right now.' And 'How can Emma not notice you?'  
  
Brennan shrugged. 'Emma doesn't notice things like that. Anyway, I don't do the erotic dancing thing anymore, Emma cured me. Nowadays, I just give private performances for her. Right, Emma?'  
  
Her voice sounded funny wheezing through gritted teeth. 'Brennan, can I talk to you for a second? In private?'  
  
He grinned at his audience. 'She's got me wrapped round her little finger. When she calls, I jump. Yes sweetie.' He languorously uncurled himself to wade through his admirers (yep, they were his admirers all right) to join her.  
  
'What do you think you are doing?' she hissed, pulling him out of earshot.  
  
His eyes twinkled mischievously. 'I'm giving your friends a fantasy trip, that's what.'  
  
Ooooh, she couldn't believe the man's arrogance. 'And what makes you think you are qualified to give them this...fantasy trip of yours?'  
  
'Just look at their faces. I get that look a lot when I tell a variation of that story. They're having fun. And besides, the point is to get them really envious of you and your devoted new boyfriend.'  
  
She was getting a headache. Before she could open her mouth again, he kissed her with passion, making sure everyone was watching. He whispered 'Relax' and bounded back to his perch to continue tale spinning.  
  
She seriously needed a drink.  
  
As she went to the kitchen to pour herself a gin she detested beer, Karyn materialized. 'You've got yourself a handful, Emma. He's incredibly hot, this new fiancé of yours. A little too hot maybe. How are you handling that?'  
  
Emma downed her drink in one gulp, not noticing the immediate burn that glowered from her esophagus all the way down to her stomach. She sighed. 'Karyn, he's not my fiancée. I wanted to tell you that earlier but he thinks it's all one big joke. The fiancée thing was his idea. He's just a ..best friend I happen to be involved with.'  
  
Karyn nodded, smiling slightly. 'I thought his stories were a little incredible. So he's your boyfriend?'  
  
'I don't know how to put it. That's what I was hoping to talk to you about. You have to swear not to tell anybody about this.' Taking a deep breath, she gave Karyn a brief sketch of the past month's events without going into too much detail.  
  
'Wow,' Karyn said when she had finished. 'I didn't know you were going through all that. I mean, I used to envy you when you were in college. You're so beautiful, but you never seemed to notice it. You always seemed to be ashamed of yourself, if you don't mind me saying so, when you don't need to be.' She paused. 'And I guess he is a pretty hot best friend to have. I can see why you might be tempted.'  
  
Emma closed her eyes. 'I think I'm in too deep now.'  
  
Karyn looked at her questioningly. 'Are you sure you really, really love him? And this is not some one-off lust thing? Men like that have a tendency to do that to you. You think you're in love with them, when what you're really feeling is a physical craving.'  
  
'No, I think...,' she corrected herself '.I know I'm in love with him. This is different. It's not just the sex, God knows I don't even like sex that much, though he's changing my mind about that. I just like being with him, even when he's not touching me. When I wake up in the morning and he's lying next to me, I get this weird feeling in the pit of my stomach, like I'm drowning in him, you know. And when he's not around, I spend all my conscious time thinking about when I'm going to see him next, what I would say to him, what we would do together. When I finally do see him, it's like my mind is blown away. I'm smiling inside, I forget all the things I had planned to say or do....and just let him take over. I know that sounds lame, but it's how I feel.'  
  
Now she was sounding like a Mills and Boon novel. Oh drat, she didn't think she would descend into that.  
  
There was a silence before Karyn replied, smiling, 'You've got it bad, girlfriend.'  
  
'I know,' she said miserably. 'And I still don't know how he feels. Don't ask me to ask him because I don't really think I can handle rejection right now.'  
  
'You think he's going to reject you? What if he feels the same way?'  
  
'What do you think?  
  
Karyn shook her head. 'I don't know him well enough to answer that. But from what you say about him...and from what I can see...there might be a possibility. The more important thing is what happens after he says yes. If he says yes.' She hesitated. 'How honest do you want me to be?'  
  
'Be honest.' A feeling of dread was beginning to gather in her belly.  
  
'Well, this is just my opinion. And I might be totally wrong. But I would be a total wreck if I had a boyfriend or husband like that. Just look at him out there....he loves attention, especially from females. And he's always going to get it wherever he goes, you can't stop that. The question is - can you handle it?'  
  
I honestly don't know, Emma thought. I haven't been able to even think that far yet. Karyn was always deep that way. Emma was suddenly glad she came. She needed to talk about this real bad.  
  
'He's also got the typical bad boy thing going for him,' Karyn continued. 'And in the past, you say he's not been exactly monogamous. Even when he has decided to commit himself to you, hypothetically speaking, can he stay with one woman for long? You must remember this is one guy women are going to be hitting on day after day, night after night. You can't be there watching him every minute. Can you trust him when he's away from you? I'm not saying this is his fault entirely. Imagine if you're a beautiful woman - and you are, of course - with a kind of sensuality that makes men go wild. Shalimar, Emma thought. Not me. . And you get men coming on to you wherever you go, on the elevator, in a mall. At some point, you're going to be tempted to yield. What's more, Brennan's a guy. They don't generally have inhibitions like we women do.'  
  
Emma felt her heart sinking. 'You're telling me it would never work out.'  
  
'No, no one can tell you that. Stranger things have happened. I'm just saying that loving a man like him comes with a risk. If that's a risk you're willing to take - and the risk is that you might get hurt badly - then you should follow your heart. Personally I prefer someone safer; someone who loves me possibly more than I love him, like Jimmy. He may not turn my world inside out like a rollercoaster, I won't exactly pine for him every day but at least I have a better chance at something long term. And I won't get hurt.' Karyn laid a hand on Emma's face. 'I know that doesn't sound very exciting but it's the way more and more women are starting to think nowadays. Call it self-preservation.'  
  
Oh yes, she knew someone safer. Someone who loved her a whole lot more than she cared to admit, when she only felt affection for him. Someone she didn't even want to think about because she was so wrapped up with Brennan.  
  
Oh poor dear sweet Jesse! And he was beautiful too in such a safe, golden, nurturing way...so unlike Brennan, whose looks inspired dangerous erotic thoughts at first glance. In a lot of other women.  
  
Karyn hugged her. 'Don't fret. The solution will come to you in time. Come say hi to Jimmy, he's been wanting to catch up with you. And,' she peered through the door, 'I think you'd better go rescue your fiancée. Sherry and Dana are all over him. They'd be wanting to score tonight, maybe together, and I don't think they care if he's your boyfriend.'  
  
Emma rolled her eyes. 'He asked for it. He's a big boy, he can take care of himself. Just tell him I'm going for a walk.'  
  
With that, she stalked off through the back door, feeling more than just a little peeved.  
  
*  
  
'Emma?' He caught up with her almost immediately. 'Hey, where are you going?'  
  
She was ashamed. She had walked off in a jealous huff when she had no right to. Now she was behaving like a lovesick teenager when she had not laid one single claim on him. 'I just wanted to go for a walk. It's my old campus after all.'  
  
'Without a coat?'  
  
She had forgotten it. There was a chill wind blowing and she had hardly noticed it. All she had been thinking about was how right Karyn was, and how loving Brennan was only going to give her a heartbreak. It was already happening, and she was not the only one. She remembered Shalimar's prophetic words - 'He's breaking my heart even before I ever gave it to him.'  
  
God, is this what Shalimar went through? This wasn't even the tip of the iceberg and she was already starting to feel like a wreck.  
  
He took off his jacket and put it around her shoulders, and she just wanted to cry at the ambiguity of it. Here she was, trying to rationalize how bad he was for her (not that she didn't know it from the start)..and when he did something like that, it made her want to melt all over again and sink into his arms like a lovelorn puppy. Damn him to hell. And when she looked into his concerned brown eyes, all misgivings flew out the window. She would be denying her very existence if she claimed she didn't want lose herself into him, and a love like that (she thought) was worth every sliver of hurt that came along with it.  
  
They walked together in companionable silence, his arm around her and her hand in his back jeans pocket.  
  
'Aren't you worried Sherry and Dana will be missing you?' she asked after a while.  
  
'Is that who they were? Nah. I'm doing a look but no touch with your friends tonight just to get the envy thing going.' He had the sense to look embarrassed. 'I know I sound really vain but it actually works sometimes. And you women do it all the time anyway. So I thought I'd get my own back.'  
  
'Well, don't do it too often,' she said. 'There's such a thing as hell hath no fury like a woman scorned.' She was thinking of Shalimar.  
  
'The actual quote is "Heaven has no rage like love to hatred turned, nor Hell a fury like a woman scorned." It's by William Congreve in The Mourning Bride, 1697. It's probably the most misquoted saying in the universe.'  
  
'Well, I like the modern version better.'  
  
'Not if you bear brunt of it.'  
  
*  
  
*  
  
'I finished with school and foster homes when I turned eighteen, and after that I hit the streets. I got into robbery in a big way since I was so good at it. But I balked at the people stuff you know, like drugs and prostitution. Though when I was about twenty-two, I worked for a guy who was into everything.'  
  
Life was good. He had plenty of money, his own apartment, a new car and he was one of the most successful robbers (armed or unarmed) in the business. His star was rising in the underworld; he had a boss who liked him, and a boss's lieutenant who didn't.  
  
'I could do no wrong where my boss was concerned,' Brennan said. "His name was Vincent Carolco and he ran the whole of the lower west side. He had ties to the Family so no one messed with him. He made sure I had a good cut of everything.'  
  
Mr Carolco also ran a legitimate business in health spas all over the country (that was actually a front for his prostitution rings), something that kept him so busy he was hardly around. He had a wife and three grown daughters who were largely occupied with traveling around Europe, or so they told Brennan when he came in. The boss was also real forgetful.  
  
One day, he called Brennan on the cellphone. 'Need an urgent favor from you, Mulwray.' Brennan liked the way he called him Mulwray and not 'kid' like most of the others. 'It's my wife's birthday. I'm in Florida right now, and she's going ballistic. Why you don't take her out to dinner and buy her jewelry? Charge it on the account. Get her Tiffany's or something.'  
  
Swell, he was thinking, now I'll have to nurse some geriatric old woman. 'Yeah, sure thing. If you'll just give me the address.'  
  
'Get it from Eli. She's expecting you at seven.' The phone went dead.  
  
Why don't you get Eli to take her out instead? Sighing, he dialed Eli anyway, knowing full well the lieutenant detested him.  
  
'Don't screw this up, kid,' Eli warned. 'You're getting cocky. Mess around with her and you're dead, I promise.'  
  
And why in the world would I want to mess around with Mrs. Carolco? Her three daughters were, like, working age? The woman had to be over fifty if she was a day. He felt a stab of guilt at the memory of Maria Lipinski, and wondered if he was now having this phobic complex because of her.  
  
When he rang the bell at the gracious Spanish mansion he was now privileged to see, he was shocked to see a dark-haired woman in her early thirties at the door. She was quite a stunner too, in a sloe-eyed predatory way; like one of those film noir women who schemed to murder their older (and usually richer) husbands.  
  
'Mrs. Carolco?' He hoped his jaw wasn't dropping open too wide.  
  
'You must be Brennan, that new whiz kid I was hearing about.' Her voice was low, he wondered if she always spoke like that. 'Come in.' She turned her back on him and he could see the criss-crossing of her spaghetti- strapped dress.  
  
He stepped hesitantly in, looking around the opulent lounge. 'Happy Birthday.' When she turned, he fumbled in his pocket and handed her a gift- wrapped box. 'Um, Mr. Carolco... I mean Vincent got you this.'  
  
'Bullshit,' she said. 'He sent you out to buy me jewelry. Let me guess, Tiffany's right? And you had to pick it out? Let's see what taste you've got.'  
  
She unwrapped the box carelessly. Her expression softened when she saw the lilac cameo he had selected. He had seen one like it in Mrs. Lipinski's collection, and assumed it might be appropriate for an older woman. 'This is different. So you don't dig the flashy stuff huh? Actually, he did. Anyway,' she tossed the box onto the plush sofa, 'I don't like jewelry, but he never got that into his thick skull. I like other things, and if you're lucky, you might just be a part of that.' She gave him a significant look.  
  
He was feeling a little hot, and loosened the neck of his shirt a little. 'Where are your children?'  
  
'I don't have any children.' She was amused. 'You must have me confused with the first Mrs. Carolco. He divorced that old bag years ago. I'm his second wife.'  
  
'Oh,' he said, feeling foolish.  
  
'Now we've got that age thing over and done with, where are we going?'  
  
She took him to a posh restaurant where the reservation list was as high as the cholesterol in the foie gras, though she circumvented it by breezing in, the maitre' d bowing and scraping. She then proceeded to order for both of them the most expensive dishes on the menu, together with a one thousand dollar bottle of wine that was corked in 1945.  
  
'Why aren't you eating?' she asked him.  
  
He was more a Chinese take-away and burgers kind of guy. 'Um..this is pretty ritzy stuff.'  
  
'I can see I'm going to have to educate you.' She looked pointedly at him. 'In a lot of things. You have a girlfriend?'  
  
'Here and there,' he replied honestly.  
  
'Do you like sex?'  
  
Her frankness was discomfiting him. 'Mrs. Carolco, where is this leading?'  
  
'Maddie.'  
  
'What?'  
  
'You can call me Maddie.' To his alarm, he felt a stockinged foot toeing his crotch. Jeepers, the woman was shameless. He shifted uncomfortably, looking around. No one noticed. He was thankful for that because he couldn't help feeling aroused. Her eyes never left his face. She was enjoying this.  
  
'Maddie, I don't think it's a good idea.'  
  
'You don't strike me as the shy type.'  
  
'I'm not. But you're my boss's wife.'  
  
'And?' She raised an eyebrow. 'You never wanted to get back at him? I certainly do.'  
  
'He's a pretty decent guy. And besides, if he found out, I don't think I'd live very long.'  
  
'Don't you like your sex laced with a bit of danger?'  
  
Her foot was working up a full massage now. He hated to admit it, but he was getting a tremendous erection. And he had to concede the danger part was very alluring.  
  
'I was so so foolish in those days,' Brennan groaned to Emma. 'But she was sexy as hell. She was super-confident, unlike any woman I'd ever met. She knew what she wanted, and she went straight for it. No small talk. And in those days, I didn't think very much with my brain.'  
  
'You still don't,' Emma said.  
  
'I like to think I'm improving.'   
  
When he drove Maddie home, with her tongue in his ear and her hand inside his trousers, he was still having second thoughts. As he parked on her drive, the engine still running, he was saying, 'I really don't think this is a good idea.'  
  
'No one will ever find out. And besides, you haven't given me my birthday present.'  
  
'You threw it on the couch.'  
  
'That's not the one I want.' She gave him a tug, not a gentle one. 'This is what I like. Right here.'  
  
He had to think about it. And quickly before his libido got the better of him. If it hadn't won already. 'What about your help? What if they see me?'  
  
'I gave them all the night off. Why do you think I answered the door? I did a scan check on you before you came. They gave me your pictures.'  
  
And with that, she unzipped him all the way and took him into her mouth. It was so sudden that he had to grip the steering wheel, almost depressing the horn. He was glad the gear was in park. Good grief, but the woman was incredible at this, well beyond even the high water mark of the health spa experts who were always giving him one for free. It was as though she knew his anatomy inside out and the right pleasure spots to sensitize. And God, she was so fucking, fucking incredible.  
  
After a while, he did something he'd never done to a woman before. He climaxed directly into her mouth. He looked down to apologize, but she was obviously enjoying the spillage and she didn't look one bit ruffled, like she was used to doing this everyday.  
  
'I'm sorry,' he said anyway.  
  
'I'm sure there's more of that where it came from. You look like a strong young man.'  
  
She led him upstairs into her bedroom. Before he could protest, she ripped his shirt apart. He nervously looked around, 'Are you sure we're not being videotaped?' 'Relax,' she laughed. 'If there's any videotaping to be done, I'll do it.' Then she kissed him...no, devoured his mouth like she was a voracious animal while tearing off his pants, feeding on him until he found himself in a state of full arousal again. There was nothing soft or tender about her, and he found himself reacting similarly; undressing her swiftly, uncovering bare skin underneath. She wore no bra or panties, just a garter belt and stockings.  
  
Oh heck, sex with her was going to be one hell of a trip.  
  
'I want you to fuck me right now,' she commanded. 'And don't hold anything back.'  
  
He pushed her down on the bed, and plunged into her roughly. She threw back her head and pulled him down with her, her fingernails digging into his back. He sensed she liked it like that, and ploughed ahead, merciless, until the bed was creaking and slamming against the wall, and he hoped he wasn't making a dent. She was whispering in his ear 'Fuck me, Brennan' over and over, and the scintillating words he had to admit he was one of those men who liked women to talk dirty to him drove him to new heights. He gathered her legs, folded them at the hips against her body and drove into her deeper, practically skewering her; and she retaliated by coming and gouging long bloody marks in his back.  
  
After he came for the second time that night, he lay back, feeling his wounds prickle, and said, 'You've got to understand this is only for tonight, okay? I can't take the risk.'  
  
'You'll be back,' she said, biting into his neck, not gently. 'That's a promise.'  
  
'No. No I won't. Like I said, I value my life.'  
  
He got up to leave, but she pressed him down again with a 'Stay the night. We're all alone.' And after a while, he drifted off to sleep. He was exhausted after all. He hoped he would wake up before someone came in the morning and saw his car parked outside.  
  
When he awoke however, she was straddling him. He tried to move, but his wrists were manacled to the bedposts, and so were his ankles. The cold steel bit into his flesh. What was the woman trying to do? She had circled his neck with a leather slave collar that had a metal ring attached to it, and she was putting on black leather gloves.  
  
'What are you doing?' He pulled helplessly at the manacles.  
  
She smiled seductively, and ran a gloved finger down his groin, eliciting from him a shudder. 'I'm making you my slave. Like I said, I have a lot to educate you.'  
  
*  
  
*  
  
Emma woke up, disoriented. She was lying in a tangle of limbs...Brennan's limbs, thank God, and they were lying on the floor, naked, a quilt around them. The sunlight was spilling through the window; she realized they were in a room (one of the rooms upstairs in the sorority house, probably) and there was a bed next to where they were lying. There were people asleep in the bed. Naked, without the quilt.  
  
She sat up in alarm. She knew she should have been shocked, and overwhelmingly stricken and perhaps she would have been one month ago before they started this ; though nowadays, with him in tow, situations like these were becoming commonplace.  
  
Bits of flashes from the night before were coming back. She had been titillated by his stories and the images he had projected into her mind; she blushed to even think of them. He had suggested they go back to the party, and they had danced 'Let's show them some erotic dancing,' he had whispered and she had thrown back a few drinks. And after a while, her senses dulled and everything became one big blur.  
  
And now here she was. Naked in a roomful of naked people. Her clothes were strewn next to her. She needed to go to the bathroom - there was one attached to the bedroom - but she was too embarrassed to go the way she was.  
  
As she sat up to gather her clothes, she noticed a stickiness on the insides of her thighs. Great, she thought, she was getting her period. What a time to be getting it. She would have to borrow something from Karyn.  
  
Next to her, Brennan stirred and opened his eyes. 'Hey.'  
  
'Hey to you too.'  
  
'Some hot night huh?'  
  
It would have been hotter if I remembered most of it, she thought. She smiled at him anyway.  
  
He grinned back. 'So what does it feel like not to be a virgin anymore?'  
  
She felt the world stop right there. 'What do you mean?'  
  
'I meant about last night. I figured you were loosened up enough, you had plenty of drinks and you were in the mood. So I went right ahead and did it.' He looked concerned. 'I thought that was the idea. And after this, you don't have to put up with me anymore.'  
  
But, she thought, her thoughts racing, I wasn't ready. I need more time to make you fall in love with me. And I don't remember a thing, not that it matters in the light of other things.  
  
More importantly, was this going to be the end? Was she going to lose him, this intimacy they had? She hadn't even told him she loved him. Oh damn it, she desperately needed more time.  
  
'You okay, Emma?'  
  
No, she thought, I'm so not okay.  
  
TBC 


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10  
  
Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters, except for my own. The rest belong to Tribune Entertainment.  
  
I just wanted to inform everyone that one of my friends has been booted from ff.net temporarily, thanks to some complaints. Now why is this so? She's an absolutely wonderful writer, and now it's everyone's loss if she can't post MX fic anymore. I really don't understand the motivation for this, and we should be celebrating writers and encouraging them, not the opposite. We all have differing styles. One may not like all of them, but it's important to remember we are all aspiring writers, so we need to be uplifted.  
  
Okay, off my soapbox now. This chapter is rated R upfront for sex and violence, and PG13 later.  
  
'Sometimes it's for the best,' he was trying to say through the maelstrom rushing in her ears. 'The first time for most women can be traumatic, in my experience. And some women never get to like it. Most of them go for the hearts and flowers stuff, that's why romance sells with women and not porn. But oh, I'm sorry.. I honestly thought you did experience it. You were quite uninhibited last night.'  
  
He was beginning to sound like the Kinsey report. He was sitting up, the quilt falling away; and he was hugging her, stroking her bare arm in consternation.  
  
'It's not that, Bren.' It was early in the morning and her head was already splitting. She knew there was a reason why she didn't drink, sometimes she just conveniently forgot it. 'I can't think right now..' And damn it, I love you and you're not giving me a chance to figure out how to tell you that '..it's just that I didn't expect it to happen so quickly.'  
  
She wondered if she could turn back the clock. Like that woman they had met with the time travel abilities, Diana-what's-her-name? Where was she now? Damn it. Would she be willing to help? What was the use of being an empath if you can't even control what you're feeling?  
  
And now. She would be forced to tell him now.  
  
Oh Bren, I love you. I know I said I wouldn't, but somewhere along the way I fell in love with you. You have no idea how much I love you. And please don't push me away because I can't bear it.  
  
No. Too intense. He would be turned off, especially if he didn't share her sentiments. That was what she couldn't bear really - the rejection, if it came. 'If' was such a cruel, dangerous word. If nothing else, she would want to keep his friendship. But how do you keep a friendship when certain words have been parlayed, certain raw emotions laid bare for scrutiny?  
  
And is it not possible, a little voice spoke, that he might love you the way you want him to?  
  
It suddenly dawned upon her that it was her psychological make-up that would not allow this possibility to be so. All her uncertainties, her insecurities 'You always seemed to be ashamed of yourself,' Karyn had rightly said , her ambiguities, her disappointments; her failed love affairs, their unhappy culmination....everything that had added to the stones structuring her self-deprecating pyramid.  
  
Nothing had ever worked out for her. Nothing had ever gone the way she wanted it to, despite the considerable powers at her disposal. What made her think that this friendship-turned-love affair would?  
  
Give me a lifeline, Bren, she pleaded silently. Help me out here.  
  
Some of it must have been projected tele-emphatically, because he took her hand. And said, 'All right, I promise you. We'll do this again. And you're going to enjoy every moment of it, awake.'  
  
Her spirits lifted.  
  
He added, 'No alcohol for you this time. And after this, you're free to go and get your own hot dates.' There was a pregnant pause. 'I really had fun, you know. This past month.'  
  
There was no inflection in his voice, so she looked up to gaze into his eyes. There was just the slightest pang of regret. (Or was it even regret? Had she projected her own desires into her observations, like a melancholic wish list?) He looked awkwardly away.  
  
Oh, her tortured, battered heart...  
  
'We've still one more date,' she commiserated miserably. She was buying time for herself; it was as clear as that. Such a cowardly act. And she was behaving exactly like all those magazine article women who cannot handle rejection; who reject before they can be rejected; such pitiful helpless souls, all of them. 'It's a date,' he promised. 'Now let's go before they make us pay for all the booze.'  
  
*  
  
*  
  
'Love can manifest itself in different, dangerous ways,' Brennan told Emma several days later on a grocery trip, while she was still waiting for that hot date. 'Not that I thought it had anything to do with love in the beginning.'  
  
He never had a woman who desired him so much. But Maddie was right. She was like a drug. He went back to her again and again. At first it was just naked, unadulterated lust. Each time they secretly met - in a seedy motel, in his apartment - as soon as he locked the bedroom door behind them, she would rip his clothes off and ravish him. She craved his body like an intoxicant, both physically and voyeuristically. She couldn't seem to get enough of him. Even when he was deep inside her, she wanted him closer.  
  
She showed him a picture of a Daliesque painting. 'I want us to have sex like this, melting into each other in one wet flow, so there's no beginning and no end. Can you do that?'  
  
'Maddie, this is a surrealist painting. There's no such thing.'  
  
She was also very much into the kinky stuff. She was into bondage and fetish wear, which suited him fine. But he drew the line at other things. He couldn't even begin to outline those other things. He had to. She was a walking erotica dictionary, and if he allowed her to lead, she would have tried him out on everything. And there were just some things that he couldn't - wouldn't - do.  
  
One day, after she had strapped him onto her bed, she took out a camcorder.  
  
'No,' he immediately said. 'No videotaping.'  
  
'But I want to look at you when you're not around. You're hardly around and I need my fix.'  
  
'Go rent a video like the rest of us. Or get a magazine.'  
  
'But I want you in them.'  
  
'Sorry, I don't do videos.' She made a move to press the 'on' button anyway. 'Maddie, if you do this, I swear I will walk after tonight.'  
  
She put down the camcorder. 'You're such a prude.'  
  
He wanted to laugh. No one had ever called him a prude before. He gasped as she pounced on him suddenly, crushing the air out of him with her weight. She produced a three-tongued whip - where the heck did that come from? - and curled it around his neck.  
  
Putting her face close to his, she said, 'Don't you ever ever threaten to walk out on me again. You understand?'  
  
When he good-naturedly acquiesced, she added, ' I will now have to punish you.'  
  
'That was the first time I had any indication that there was a deadly undercurrent about her,' Brennan said. 'Though it made the sex even more exciting, better than any I'd ever had before. The part about me forfeiting my life every time I went back to her was also very real, which added of course to the whole intoxication package.' He sighed. 'Why do we always crave the things that are bad for us?'  
  
I should be asking myself that, Emma thought.   
  
As the months went by, he was acutely aware that the danger was escalating. Worse still, she was getting adventurous. She wanted to get it on with him in public places. Like a restroom stall in a subway station. Or a back alley. Under a table at a fetish club. There was always an element of being seen by someone who knew either of them, and he was aware that Mr. Carolco had many spies.  
  
He had it bad. He was turning into a danger addict, living on the edge of reason, mingling his passion with a frenetic disregard for consequence. He had always been a risk taker, but now he was practically reveling in it. It was almost as though he had a death wish.  
  
In one instance, when he had just woken up in her bed, he caught her staring at him. As his eyes met hers, she looked abruptly away.  
  
'You're not falling in love with me, are you, Maddie?' He asked, stroking her hair.  
  
'Of course not,' she quickly said. 'You're just a body to me. Whatever made you think that?'  
  
There was so little softness in her that he felt sorry. He wondered what had happened in her life that made her that way. A subliminal part of him wondered too if he could bring out the woman in her.  
  
He knew it was too good to be true, them carrying on without anybody finding out. It had to happen. And for him, D-day came when Eli was briefing him about a bank heist he was supposed to plan.  
  
The lieutenant paused in mid-presentation. 'Come into my room, kid, I want to show you something.'  
  
Heart pumping with a sudden surge of adrenaline, Brennan followed him.  
  
'Sit here,' Eli indicated the armchair in front of a TV monitor.  
  
He felt his bile rise within as Eli inserted a videotape and pressed 'Play.' A shockingly clear image of him - naked, handcuffed to the bed and painfully erect - came onscreen. The angle was static and amateurish, as though the camera was placed in one spot from a distance. As he watched, a deep-seated horror taking root, Maddie appeared onscreen. She turned to flash a sultry smile at the camera. Then she straddled him on the bed and began to move her hips, proffering the lens a embarrassingly stark posterior view of their coupling.  
  
'Where...where.. did you get this?' he whispered, aware his mouth was very, very dry.  
  
Eli said grimly. 'Walls have eyes. One of the maids found quite a collection in a secret cache somewhere in Mr. Carolco's house. Naturally, she played them, as people are wont to play all hidden tapes. For weeks, she didn't know what to do. And finally, she brought them to me, since I hired all of Mr. Carolco's staff.'  
  
Brennan was suddenly very, very scared. He wondered what it took to get away from here, and if he had to skip the country. Subconsciously, he felt a charge building. If that was what it took...  
  
'You shouldn't have videotaped yourself fucking, kid. That was a stupid thing to do.'  
  
She must have done it without his knowledge, using a hidden camera. Damn the woman..He wondered how much voltage it would take to shock Eli without killing him.  
  
Behind him, Eli said quietly. 'I've been with Vincent for eighteen years. He took me in from the streets. Gave me an identity, a place to belong. I've seen his children grow up. I've seen him through a divorce, and his first daughter's wedding. And I've seen him seal an alliance with the Family by marrying Madeleine LaPaglia. You do know who she is, don't you? Her folks are from New York, and they pretty much belong to the First Family there. She's an untouchable. That leaves only you.'  
  
He knew Eli always carried a gun, and that his favorite execution style was a bullet to the temple. One shot. No questions asked. 'She seduced me first.'  
  
'Of course.' Eli bent down, putting his mouth very close to Brennan's ear. 'And now I'm offering you a way out. I don't want to see Vincent go through this. Confrontation is too messy. Upsets people in New York, if you know what I mean. So I want you to walk away from her. Tell her it's over. And if he wasn't so fond of you, I would suggest you find a new line of employment.'  
  
'How do I know you won't just kill me after I end it?'  
  
'You don't know that. But at least you'll know you'll be doing the decent thing for a man who's been good to you. So I suggest you buy yourself brownie points, and maybe I might relent.'  
  
*  
  
He had to do it. Eli was right. It was the decent thing to do, though part of him was not sorry he had had Maddie. But now there had to be closure. And then he had to skip town. He didn't believe for one moment that Eli was going to let him go without repercussions. He was young, but he wasn't naïve.  
  
So he arranged to meet Maddie at a secluded booth in their usual fetish club. When she arrived, her hand immediately dove down between his legs, but he pushed it away. 'We've got to talk.'  
  
He told here what happened with Eli. She listened, expressionless. And when he reproached for making videotapes, she said, 'But I wanted to look at you. I needed to. You never understood that.'  
  
Again, he wondered if she was in love with him. Or if for her, love and lust had mired themselves into one confusing Daliesque continuum. Perhaps her voyeurism was a psychological manifestation, and it wasn't for him to cure it. She seriously needed a shrink. 'Look, I'm flattered. But maybe you should have just stuck a photo of me in your wallet, though that's dangerous in itself. As it is, I have to leave. I can't see you again.'  
  
There was a high color in her cheeks. She breathed sharply, her chest rising and falling. 'No, don't leave. Just stay put. I'll take care of it.'  
  
'What do you mean you'll take care of it? It's over.'  
  
'Just trust me okay?'  
  
*  
  
He had his suspicions, and perhaps he didn't want to fully acknowledge them at first. But when Eli went missing, his hackles were raised.  
  
'Why are you so interested, Mulwray? I thought you didn't like him.'  
  
Careful, he thought. He didn't want suspicion to befall him. 'We were supposed to go over the heist.'  
  
'He's probably around.' His seasoned associate raised an eyebrow. 'Sometimes they go on urgent covert missions, you know, like the CIA. They don't tell people, it's a need to know thing. Eli's disappeared before. He's always turned up.'  
  
'Yeah, but you know, I thought he should have left word or something,' he mumbled.  
  
'Then again, the world's a dangerous place. Like there was this mugging yesterday on one of Mr. Carolco's own household help. They dragged her to a back alley when she was going home, took all her cash but not before raping her and slitting her throat. Like I said, the world's a violent place.'  
  
Suddenly, he felt the world spinning.  
  
'You okay, Mulwray?'  
  
'Yeah...I uh...just need to go take a leak.'  
  
He walked slowly to the bathroom tread carefully, he told himself , turned on the sink faucet and splashed water on his face. Oh God..God...Maddie.. How did he get himself involved in this?  
  
His worst fears were confirmed when the police fished out a decomposed body from the river two days later. They identified it as Elijah Solomon, manager of a successful health spa which was Eli's front, though Brennan was sure they had accumulated files on Eli's other activities, but didn't have enough evidence to make an arrest. The body was in bad shape. Apparently, the fishes had chewed up its hands and face. The coroner had to make a dental identification.  
  
He spent the next few nights restless, unable to sleep. He was not a stranger to violence, having lived with it all his life, but this particular one unnerved him in its brutality and swiftness of execution. He was regretting now being involved with the mob or any of its affiliates. Most of all, her image now filled his mind with a stark horror. He wondered if he would ever look at her the same way again. All those times they shared....bodies tumbling on the bed with passion, the scent of her hair in his face...he never dreamt for one moment that she was capable of this.  
  
There was a call in his cellphone three days later. 'You're avoiding me.'  
  
'I'm not,' he placated, his heart beating fast, aware that she was a very dangerous woman. 'I've been busy, that's all.'  
  
'No, you're avoiding me. I know you. What I did, I did for us.'  
  
Her admission, though not unexpected, slammed into him like a visceral blow. 'Maddie. it didn't have to be that way.'  
  
There was a silence on the other end. Then, 'I want to see you again. I need you.'  
  
He closed his eyes. He knew he had to go to Canada, or Mexico. Even those weren't far enough. He wondered how long her tentacles would reach. Perhaps he should go back to Ireland where his ancestors came from. 'I'm busy this week, but I'll call you, okay?'  
  
Again, another terrifying pause.  
  
'You're walking out on me, aren't you? You're leaving me? After all I did for you?'  
  
He was amazed at her intuition. 'No I'm not.' He hoped his voice didn't waver. He was glad he was not face to face with her, he didn't know if he could pull it off otherwise. 'I will call you Wednesday. That's a promise.  
  
'Liar.' The phone on the other end went dead.  
  
He had a bad feeling about this. He wondered how long it would take to get a fake passport ready. He had to do several things in a rush. He cursed his lack of foresight now, he should have skipped town the very day he left her at the club. Or maybe it wasn't a lack of foresight. He had known in some deep, subconscious part of him. Perhaps he wanted to believe that someone he had held in his arms and made love to with such passion could not be capable of the dark, twisted things that she had confessed to. And he still believed in semi fairy tales, and that everything would turn out all right. In that lay his true naivete.  
  
It was too late. When he opened the door to his apartment late that night he had wanted to pack a few essential items, then go to a motel, he was confronted by several guns pointing at him.  
  
'So kid, we meet again.'  
  
Somebody switched on the lights. The specter of Detective Javier was standing in the middle of his lounge, with Brennan's gun - the one he had hidden in his drawer - laid down on the carpet in front of him. The detective was much older now and gaunter, but no less terrifying. He was surrounded by several police officers.  
  
Brennan felt his insides turn.  
  
'A while earlier,' Javier said, 'we had an anonymous call that we would find something very interesting in your freezer. And we did. Come on inside, kid. Come and have a look.'  
  
Brennan wondered if it were possible to bolt for it. But there were guns trained on him - three of them - at point blank range. So he raised his hands, and followed the detective inside.  
  
'Nice place you got here, kid. Life been good to you? By the way, it's Captain Javier now.'  
  
'Congratulations on your promotion,' Brennan said wryly.  
  
'You won't have such a mouth when you find out what's inside.' They were at the freezer. Captain Javier was looking at him interestedly. 'Why don't you tell us what's in there?'  
  
'I don't know. Ice cream. What do you want me to say?'  
  
Javier had strapped on some latex gloves. Brennan noted that the handle and in fact, the entire door of the freezer had been dusted for fingerprints. Javier opened it now. Inside, amidst half-eaten tubs of ice cream and ice containers, there was the gruesome sight of a severed hand, all mottled and blue, with a ring on its fourth finger. Brennan felt his carotid artery throbbing. He recognized the ring.  
  
'Kid, I'm placing you under arrest for the murder of Eli Solomon.'  
  
*  
  
*  
  
'Emma? Can I come in?'  
  
She turned her head. Her bedroom door was ajar, and she was sitting at her computer, apologizing to Karyn by e-mail about not saying goodbye when they had left. (The truth being, she couldn't find either Karyn or Jimmy through the menagerie of post-orgy people. She had found both Sherry and Dana though, in each other's arms.) 'And it was a lovely party,' she had written. 'Brennan and I had a little party of our own upstairs, along with everybody else (not together with them..you dirty-minded thing). What you said was very important to me. I shall think about it. Thank you for being there when -'  
  
'Hi Jesse.' She hastily saved the mail onto Draft and downsized the Internet window. 'Sure, come in. What can I do for you?'  
  
He was still hovering in the doorway, almost as though he was afraid to step over the threshold.  
  
'Please come in,' she said, in case he hadn't heard her the first time. She wondered what was up with him. He wasn't usually this edgy around her. Then again - she thought back to that night where she had caught the first wave of love unrequited from him, so tortured and stark; an emanation of incredible angst and longing. It was brutal sometimes to have powers like hers, being privy to things she shouldn't be. When she was little, she had eavesdropped on a conversation between her parents; they had been talking about her abilities and how she would possibly (not) fit into the world. Their dissection had not been cushioned for her ears. What she had heard disturbed her. And although she had been the topic of speculation, she had crept away feeling both sorrowful and guilty, like she had stolen a piece of something that was not meant for her. She felt like that now.  
  
Jesse walked in apprehensively. She patted the chair across hers, attempting to bestow her undivided attention upon him, when she was actually feeling ashamed enough to flee. In truth, she was as nervous as she believed he now felt. She was feeling like a trapped she-bear whose cave had been invaded by a suitor no one had prepared her for.  
  
e staHe He sat down, not looking at her. And she had a sudden, dire premonition that he was going to tell her something that would change them both. Oh no, Jesse, she breathed...not now. I don't think I can handle it.  
  
Before she could stop him, he blurted out, 'I know you're having an affair with Brennan.' And there, he had said it. He now seemed relieved; as though he had been harboring a nest of nettles within his chest for such a long time and was now spilling out the toxic bouquet before it could cause him further harm.  
  
She stayed silent, feeling her heart strumming up a staccato, not daring to breathe too deeply for fear the sound itself would be an admission. The air between them was so thick it was almost palpable.  
  
He seemed to take her non-denial as confirmation. A look of pain, so heart-breaking in its intensity, flitted across his features. 'Why, Emma?'  
  
If she had not known about his secret love for her, if she had been like any other normal twenty-one year old, she would have said in surprise and none too politely, 'What's it to you?' But as it was, her talent was her curse. And she was doomed to understand his agony, and to feel responsible for it.  
  
'Jesse...you do know he and I have been friends for such a long time. He was just..' She couldn't bring herself to tell him the truth about Brennan helping her out. It was too private and embarrassing. '..something happened along the way, that's all.'  
  
'But you and I have been friends too. And you've never.....' He trailed off.  
  
'Jesse, is there something you want to tell me?' Although she knew the reason, some insistent (and cruel) part of her still wanted vindication. You started this, Jesse, she was thinking. Now tell me in your own words.  
  
He was quiet for a while. Then he finally said in a voice so soft it was almost inaudible, 'You must know how I feel about you, Emma.'  
  
If she had been stubborn, she would have said, 'No, I don't. Why don't you tell me?' But it would have been a farce. They both knew she knew, and this time, she allowed her silence to be her admission.  
  
'I'm sorry, Jesse,' she said after an elongated pause. 'I do love you, you know. But..not in that way.'  
  
'And you love him? In that way?'  
  
'It didn't start off like that. But after a while..yes.'  
  
'And does he love you? In that way?'  
  
She was thinking that the interrogation was stilted, pockmarked by periods of strangled silence. If she considered herself in torment, she wondered what it must be for him. 'I don't know. I don't know how he feels about me. But I do know that I love him.'  
  
It was all she could do to be honest.  
  
'And how do you know he's not just using you?'  
  
Jesse was too cultured to use the words 'fucking around with you', but she knew what he meant. 'He's not. Trust me on this. It's more like I'm using him.'  
  
Jesse looked away, and she was glad because she didn't want to see the hurt in his eyes. And when he finally spoke, it was like a catharsis.  
  
'It's always him, isn't it? Everything's about him. Adam, Shalimar -' he gave a short laugh. 'He just breezes in from the cold and takes everything away. Why? Because he's flashy? And loud? Have you seen him out there, Emma? Have you seen how he behaves around women? I have. He just takes their hearts and rips them into little pieces. And he doesn't even care!'  
  
'No,' Emma avowed. 'I have seen what's inside him. You don't know him, Jesse. He's not like that.'  
  
Jesse shook his head, a gesture that conveyed both incredulity and hopelessness. 'He's got you so wrapped up around his little finger. I suppose he's got that in him, sometimes he gets me wrapped up around his finger too. God...' He closed his eyes, '...how I wish for one moment I can be like him. Mr. Perfect. Doesn't have problems. Always super-cool. On top of everything, literally.'  
  
He looked down at his knees, a gesture of such defeat that Emma felt a pang. 'I would give anything to be like him if that's what it takes for you to notice me.'  
  
Emma felt her heart contracting. 'Jesse, I do notice you. You're beautiful the way you are. Don't ever wish you were someone else. He's just...different, that's all.'  
  
'And that's what you like.'  
  
'I don't know what I like. I only know what I feel.' She took his hand. 'This is not about him, so don't let's talk about him anymore. This is about you and me.'  
  
'It is about him,' he said in a monotone. 'Tell me Emma, if he weren't in the picture, would you think I'm worth a chance? He'll only hurt you, you know. I know guys like him. He can't be with one woman for long. If you were Shal, I'd tell you the same thing.'  
  
'I know,' Emma whispered. 'You're not the only person who sees that.'  
  
'I'm just looking out for you, Emma. And maybe I have my selfish reasons, but I don't want to see you get hurt.' He withdrew his hand from hers, almost as though it hurt him to touch her; and spoke without looking into her eyes. 'I know I'm not him, or anything like him. I don't have what he has, that charm or charisma or whatever you call it that attracts people to him. I'm just a simple guy who's in love with you, and I would never never hurt you. Maybe you might think that's worth a chance.'  
  
She felt tears springing to her eyes, and bit back her lip.  
  
'Just think about it, okay?' he said. 'That's all I'm asking. You said this love thing wasn't overnight between you and him either. It might be the same thing for you and me. Some things take time. And when you sort out what you are feeling, know that I'm right here for you. Waiting.'  
  
He was making it impossible for her to walk away unscarred. Don't do this, Jesse, she pleaded desperately. I don't need such conflict right now.  
  
She found her voice. 'It isn't fair to you. You should be free to do anything you want. You don't have to wait for me.'  
  
'I've got a lot of time to kill.' He gave her a sad smile. 'But I can't wait forever, okay?'  
  
She nodded. She could live with that.  
  
'You still want to go through it with him? He might not be worth it, you know.'  
  
'I have to try, even if he hurts me.' She closed her eyes, feeling the tears squeeze out shamefully. 'Or I'll die never knowing.'  
  
*  
  
It was really nice sometimes just to go out girl and girl, and Emma missed doing that recently with Shalimar. She had been avoiding her friend, mainly because of Brennan; she felt horribly duplicitous and she couldn't quite trust herself to meet Shalimar's eyes. But when Shal asked her out for coffee to just 'talk about girl stuff', she couldn't say no.  
  
And she was glad she came, because she was enjoying it. It was easier when she didn't have to think about him or Jesse or the whole mess she had created for herself. And they had chatted inconsequentially about things in general. Like movies, music and clothes. And how Adam was totally screwing up their lives.  
  
Shal was looking a lot better than she had in recent weeks. In fact, she had gained a lot of color, and she was in positive spirits. She's starting to glow again, thought Emma, feeling glad for her friend. She must have gotten over Brennan.  
  
'You look like you've met a guy,' Emma teased.  
  
Shal flushed a little, which was so unlike her that Emma wanted to giggle. 'Well...in a manner of speaking...'  
  
'Oooh. Do tell. Where did you meet him?'  
  
Shal took a deep breath. 'You remember when we talked in your room?'  
  
'Uh huh.' Most of all, she remembered the guilt trip. She seemed to be going on a lot of guilt trips recently with the people in her life. It was becoming routine.  
  
'Well,' Shal continued. 'I got to thinking that wasn't really me. And the real me would go out and make things happen, like I always have. And so..I did.'  
  
Emma nodded in encouragement. 'And...?'  
  
'That's what I meant. I went out and made things happen.' Shalimar leaned across the table and took Emma's hand jubilantly. 'I decided to..like they say...seize the day. And so I took the plunge, and it was wonderful.  
  
'Oh Emma.' Her eyes were shining and she gave the hand a little squeeze, 'Brennan and I finally made love.'  
  
TBC 


	11. Chapter 11

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters, except for my own. The rest belong to Tribune Entertainment.  
  
Aha, I received a lot of screaming e-mail for my last chapter duck. But guys, I did warn you this story was pre-planned! Do you think someone like Shalimar would just roll over and accept her fate without fighting for Brennan? Heck, I would fight for him! I'm a sucker for beautiful bad boys, no matter how much they can hurt a girl.  
  
This chapter is rated PG-13 upfront, then gets into R somewhere in the middle for animalistic sex.  
  
Chapter 11  
  
There was a stunned silence.  
  
Then Emma asked, stammering, 'Wh..what do you mean?'  
  
'Exactly what I said. Brennan and I made love. Emma, are you okay?'  
  
Emma closed her eyes for a moment. Be careful, she thought. She felt her pulse thrumming in her throat, a restless two-beat tapping that transmuted itself onto the scarf she had tied around her neck for effect; so that its edges too went flutter, flutter. 'I'm okay, it caught me by surprise, that's all. When...when did this happen?'  
  
'Five days ago.'  
  
Five days ago. That must have been after their date at the party. The morning she had woken up totally deflowered and dejected. Where it had been at the tip of her tongue to confess her love for him, and she had held back - as usual, the story of her life. She was now wishing, dread admixed with horror rising within her, that she had told him then; perhaps things wouldn't have taken such a drastic turn as they seemed to be doing now. Then again (the doormat part of her speaking), if she had, might they have been any different?  
  
She attempted a smile; though inside, she could feel herself breaking, like she was being cleaved in two and the two sides of her were being pulled far, far apart. Oh Brennan... Brennan..after everything we shared.....how could you? She resisted an attempt to put her knuckles in her mouth and scream.  
  
A voice inside her said, 'But you didn't tell him. And he thought once he had helped you, there would be closure. And he would be free to pursue other matters.'  
  
She wanted to wipe away angry mental tears. Stop making excuses for him. He must have been blind not to see it, or else he chose not to see it. Couldn't he just have waited? And what about that date he had promised her (their final date - the ominous thought came), would that proceed according to plan? Or did this little interlude with Shal change everything?  
  
She hated him. She loved him. She wanted to rant and scream all her frustrations to the ceiling. She wanted to creep away and die. She wanted to walk out right now, Shal be damned, find him and tear his face apart. She wanted to hold him in her arms the moment she saw him, and take him away from Shal forever. Her limbs felt leaden, like she could no longer move without eliciting an ache in her chest. The ambivalence of her emotions were tearing her mind apart, she couldn't handle this. This was too complex.  
  
And all through this, she was smiling agonizedly, nodding her head at Shal, and saying words that sounded distant to her ears. 'So...' a casual tone, 'what happened?'  
  
Shal turned pensive. 'After I spoke to you, I realized I couldn't just stand aside and watch someone I love - someone I thought I had a chance with... and someone I was certain loved me some way in return, only he had a funny way of showing it sometimes - being taken away; growing more distant every day. I struggled with myself, you know. Because it hurt so much in here,' she placed a hand on her heart, 'and I wasn't sure I could do it.'  
  
Emma felt as if she was wading in candle wax. Time suddenly seemed abominably slow.  
  
'But I didn't want to be a victim. And I thought, I just had to give it a try, you know. Be damn with the consequences. I had lost everything already. I had nothing left to lose.'  
  
Nor have I, Emma thought.  
  
'I had no intention of throwing myself at him. I had too much pride for that.' Shal gave a sad little laugh. 'That's my problem, I always did have too much pride. I just wanted to talk to him, and tell him that I thought of him as more than a friend. And maybe, he would give me a lead on how he felt. And I could take it from there.'  
  
Emma wondered if she dared. And she decided she didn't care anymore, Shal wouldn't find out anyway. So she reached into her friend's mind - wincing slightly from the sting generated from the tangled animalistic emotions of a feral - and connected. And found herself drowning.  
  
Why, she pleaded, do you do this to yourself?  
  
*  
  
They had gone undercover at a posh party thrown at somebody's house to check out a new mutant couple whose powers were in flux. The cry for help had come to Adam over broadband e-mail. And due to the amount of occasions they had been set up recently by such distress beacons, he had naturally been wary. 'Why don't you investigate them first?' he had suggested to Shalimar and Brennan.  
  
So they had slipped in. Shalimar had dressed carefully, choosing a form fitting, ice blue dress that left little to the imagination. She wondered if she was doing it to impress him, and decided that her subconscious motives were too painful to think about.  
  
He too was looking particularly handsome. When he made an effort to dress up, he was breathtaking in a totally different way, like a soap opera actor playing the stunning best man at a wedding. Or maybe it was the lighting. She remembered the first time she saw him, back when he was still a common criminal and she was trying to help him and Emma escape the GSA. Arrogant, she had then thought. Supremely challenging. He was going to be a handful. Life with him would be anything but dull. She was going to have to put him in his place.  
  
And now it seemed he had put her in her place, stringing her heart along with hopes, little glimpses of candid revelations, a smile here, a peck there, a look that belied so many unspoken words. She liked to think she had strung him along too, and a base part of her had enjoyed his petty jealousies and possessiveness. The feral in her tended to be coquettish sometimes - it was how the great cats played the mating game - she felt engulfed by her feline side, which was more often than not a tease. But he was not a feral and patience for him was not a virtue. One day, that tenuous string had snapped, and she found herself bereft, wondering how she got blindsided.  
  
When she had been a child, she had a little kitty that hero- worshipped her. Followed her around like a shadow like she was the love of its life. One day, that little kitty grew up, became self-absorbed like all cats, and left off tailing her. The withdrawal pangs were acute. For several months, she found herself looking over her shoulder, missing that familiar pad-pad-pad of its velveteen paws. She felt like that with Brennan now.  
  
Oh Bren, she thought, why do we do this to each other?  
  
The trouble with him was that he was too dominant. He wanted to be in control all the time, even in love. But she too was alpha. They were two tempestuous creatures bonded by an undeniable chemistry. She wondered how it would ever work out.  
  
'You look nice, Shal,' he pronounced solemnly as they entered the main hall.  
  
'You look nice too.'  
  
They had scanned the crowd for the couple, who had RSVP'ed on the guest list. They had checked with the butler several times. After two hours, when the duo still didn't show up, they were ready to give it up as a lost cause.  
  
'Maybe they got wind we were here. Or they truly weren't legit. Anyway, we've wasted our time. You wanna go home?' he asked.  
  
She missed him. She missed talking to him, one on one, the way they used to. He had been so preoccupied lately. 'Nah. It's quite a cool party. I don't mind hanging out a little. Maybe if we stay awhile, some of the money off these people would rub off on us.'  
  
He laughed. 'Don't bet on it. I never got rich that way. Sometimes you have to be proactive.'  
  
So they had hung out. Several men made a pass at her, which she took in good stride. She had always enjoyed the propositions, it gave her a much needed boost of confidence in her own attractiveness, especially now in her despairing state. Nevertheless, she found herself looking at him longingly in several occasions. He was practically reveling in all the female attention he was getting; again, she wondered how truly involved he was with this other woman. Or maybe it was just part of his nature to flirt, he couldn't help himself. To his credit however, she noticed that at least he was holding back. Letting them look but not touch; she had to smile at that. For a non-feral male, he certainly knew how to play hard to get.  
  
Barging in anyway in between two society matrons, she tapped him on the shoulder. 'Hey, wanna explore?'  
  
'Sure,' he said quickly.  
  
She wanted to laugh at the way he bolted after her. 'You owe me one for rescuing you.'  
  
'Well, it was your idea to stay.'  
  
They walked together in companionable silence around the house, which was more like a Bruce Wayne gothic-styled castle with its many rooms and corridors. It had been so long since they were together like this without verbally sparring or doing something to hurt each other. It was so pleasant that she didn't want to shatter the peacefulness by saying something. And yet, she knew she eventually did want to say something. She had planned it even when she had been choosing her wardrobe. Oh damn. This was so out of character for her to feel this jittery, like she was on a prom date with the best-looking boy in school.  
  
She wondered if she would get her confidence back before the night was over. It's okay, she whispered to herself. You have nothing to lose. Be bold.  
  
It was now or never. She felt her muscles tensing. 'Bren? Are you seeing someone?'  
  
He stopped in mid-stride. 'What do you mean?'  
  
'I mean...' Was she wrong? 'You have been..preoccupied lately, and I just thought...'  
  
He looked away for a while, deciding carefully how to choose his words. 'Technically, I'm helping out a friend. Only I'm not quite sure how it's turning out.. And I'm not sure how she's feeling about the whole thing.' He paused for a while, frowning. 'It's complicated, really.'  
  
Shalimar's chest compacted. 'Is it someone I know?'  
  
He looked levelly at her. 'No.'  
  
'Okay then.' She was relieved. Better a faceless anonymous somebody she could pretend to rake her nails in.  
  
He seemed bemused. 'You actually noticed.'  
  
'So I did.'  
  
They had entered a hall hosting a medium-sized swimming pool, which was blue mosaic-tiled with Moorish motifs, and very inviting-looking. The place was empty, though the lights were softly lit to give it a Kublai Khan pleasure palace effect.  
  
Shalimar knelt down and tested the water, more to avoid looking at him than anything else. 'It's heated. Some people are amazingly rich. Whose house is this anyway?'  
  
'Don't remember. Can't imagine how I missed it in my days as a career criminal. I must have been slipping.'  
  
She had to laugh. Brennan was funny that way. She truly enjoyed having him around again. It was funny how you never missed things until you realized they were gone.  
  
She suddenly had an impulse. 'Hey, do you want to go swimming?'  
  
He looked at her as though she had gone mad. 'Right now? Are you crazy?'  
  
'Come on, be wild. Loosen up for one night.'  
  
'Me, loosen up? Who are you talking to? Emma?' He backed away nonetheless. 'You're not planning on skinny dipping, are you?'  
  
'I was,' she smiled, feeling a rush of adrenaline again. She needed the fix. It chased away her jitters and she felt confident, in control once more, the way she needed to be. 'But since you're shy, I'll keep my underwear on. You can do the same, I promise I won't peek.'  
  
He was still looking at her, as though deciding if she was serious. 'Shal, you do know I can't swim.'  
  
'Yeah. And that's the whole point. You have to do something totally crazy that you haven't done before. And I'll teach you. Come on.'  
  
Maybe her enthusiasm was infectious, because his eyes twinkled. 'Okay. But I'm staying in shallow water. And you can't peek, 'cause you won't be able to handle it.'  
  
She laughed. 'Oh I think I can. You've got nothing I haven't seen anyway.'  
  
'Ditto.' He removed his dinner jacket, the one she thought was so James Bond, and began to undo the buttons on his cuffs. This was so fun, almost like old times. He had unbuttoned the rest of his shirt and was about to shrug it off when he seemed to realize she wasn't undressing. 'Stop ogling.'  
  
Grinning, she kicked off her shoes and began to unzip her dress. She wore no stockings and she was glad for that, she always preferred to be bare-limbed anyway. She had a strapless push-up bra on and matching blue lacy panties, she wondered what he would think of that. And she felt his eyes on her. He was gazing at her body, a catch in his breath; and when he realized she knew he was gazing, he looked abruptly away.  
  
She was sorry. She liked him looking at her. It made her feel desired. Not that she wanted to play seductive tonight, he meant too much to her to perform a cheap, low trick like that. Then again if that were the case, she asked herself, why was she undressing? And getting him to undress? Because subconsciously, some part of her knew that was best card she could play to win him back? Oh, if she had to resort to that...  
  
She felt a flood of embarrassment. Surely she had more confidence in her own personality than that. Her body shouldn't have to be part of the equation. To think that she had to sink so low to try and win him back.  
  
She was on the verge of calling the whole swimming thing off, when he said, 'Now you're having second thoughts. You turning chicken?'  
  
Now, that was a challenge if she heard one, and she couldn't resist. Turning up her nose at him, she executed a perfect dive into the pool. Unlike cats, she had no fear of water. Fire was her only denouement (and maybe, falling too deeply in love). The water was balmy and oh so refreshing, she could scarcely have believed it was chilly outside. Gasping, she surfaced. This was truly a vivid experience and she felt the excitement coursing through her limbs again. To hell with thinking so much with her head, she was going to have fun. All she had to do was let herself be.  
  
'Who's a chicken now?' she called to him.  
  
He was kneeling at the edge of the pool, clad only in his briefs and laughing at her. It struck her, not for the first time, how truly beautiful he was. He should, she thought, be captured on celluloid or the pages of a Vanity Fair magazine and be preserved forever. Though she doubted very much he would like to have his photo taken; he had a phobia of that. He had always said it would be used against him.  
  
She swam up to him, sought purchase with her feet on the floor of the pool and held one hand out. 'Don't be such a baby. Look, I'm standing. It's shallow.'  
  
'Yeah well, it's easy for you to say. You don't get shorted out when you're wet.'  
  
He took her hand anyway. And suddenly jerking it, she pulled him into the water.  
  
She could have sworn he shrieked. He landed with a resounding (and very embarrassing) splash, almost dunking her in the process. For a while, she thought he was going to be in trouble and she was almost sorry she did it; but he managed to clamber up for air, holding on to her shoulder.  
  
'That was nasty,' he said, spluttering. 'Why do you do nasty things like that?'  
  
She giggled. He looked really cute when he was wet and cross. 'Come on, I'll teach you how to swim.'  
  
She showed him how to hold on to the side while kicking out, frog style. It was totally enjoyable, having him in her power like that, obediently following her lead. He was usually so good at everything that she was hard-pressed to find something that he sucked at; and when she did find one, she was going to milk it for all it was worth.  
  
After a while, she said, 'Now you try it. Let go of the side and try kicking out on your own.'  
  
'No, I'll sink.'  
  
'You won't sink. Hold on to my hands.'  
  
He did, clasping them tightly as though he was afraid to let go. The situation was so hilarious she wanted to laugh. Here she was, teaching Brennan Mulwray how to swim and he was behaving like a scared kitty cat being put into a well. It was also nice to see him so uncertain and timorous; he was usually so brash and testosterone-ridden. This vulnerability was a very nice change.  
  
It also made him dangerously attractive.  
  
She led him like this, pulling him by his hands, keeping both of them afloat across the width of the pool. Once or twice she brushed against his wrists, and his pulse was bounding so hard she thought he was going to have a seizure.  
  
'You really are scared, aren't you?' she teased him when they had safely gotten to the other side.  
  
'Yeah,' he confessed. 'Been terrified of water ever since I was a kid.'  
  
'Does that mean you don't take baths?'  
  
'A guy's gotta take a bath sometime.'  
  
She giggled. His wet skin was glistening a soft gold in the lamplight, his face was flushed from the exertion (and terror) and he looked carelessly, carelessly marvelous. She did always have a protective pang for men in distress, and right now she was finding him irresistible. The incredible urge was blossoming in her again, stronger than ever.  
  
You can do it, Shalimar, she whispered to herself. Be bold.  
  
Holding his face in both her palms, she kissed him. Softly at first, and when his eyes flew wide open in surprise, she kissed him again. Harder. Pressing her mouth against his, sucking at his lower lip insistently until he responded by kissing her back; tenuously at first and then with a growing hunger.  
  
When they momentarily separated, he had a questioning look in his eyes. 'Shalimar?'  
  
'I missed you, Brennan.' She didn't know what else to say, so she might as well start with the truth. 'I missed....us.'  
  
She wondered if he knew what she meant. He seemed to understand, his brown eyes softening.  
  
'There was a time...' he said in such a low voice that she had to strain to hear it, 'that I thought there wasn't going to be an "us".'  
  
She had nothing to say to that. It wasn't the time to be pointing fingers and slinging 'You hurt me so I hurt you back' retorts. And besides, the ambience was too sultry, the mood too ripe and the air between them too voluptuous to let it go to waste. So she kissed him again, tilting his head downwards, clutching at his dripping hair; devouring his mouth - he tasted of pool water - probing the chlorine tang with her tongue. She felt her loins moisten with need...if she had known it was going to be like this with him, she would have done it sooner.  
  
In retaliation, he scooped her up, clutching at the small of her back and the underside of her thigh, so she was at eye level with him. And whispered against her lips, 'I've wanted to do this for such a long time.'  
  
She wondered if it was a good time to tell him that she loved him. And decided to save it till later. Until he gave her a lead on how he felt.  
  
They kissed again and again, each kiss more unnerving than the last, until she felt she could drown into his wetness. As he drew her closer to his body, she could feel his hardness pressing against her. It was a startling experience; they were in the water so it was almost like floating, and she could feel him through his clammy underwear. Only it was a numbed sensation, surrealistic in quality.  
  
Again that questing look in his eyes. 'Do you want me to?'  
  
She responded with a hungry kiss. 'Yes...yes. I want you to. Please.'  
  
He put her down, splashing her a little, and reached down below to strip off his briefs, almost slipping in his awkwardness. She steadied him as he laughed ruefully, 'I'm not very good at water gymnastics, am I?'  
  
'Let me help you,' she said, licking her lower lip. Taking a deep breath, she submerged herself into the water. Kneeling on the bottom of the pool in front of him, she peeled off his briefs and helped him step out of them, holding on to his calves and ankles as she did so. She was noting how muscled his thighs were, like a pale, sunken Michelangelo sculpture in the eerie blueness of the water. It was too disconcerting to look further upward, so she surfaced for air.  
  
He kissed her as she was gasping, and took his sodden underwear from her. 'Don't want to lose these.' He tossed it aside, freeing his hands to undo the clasp of her bra. Her nipples were peeking above the wired cups, she had only now noticed it - gosh, were they exposed throughout the whole period when she was towing him across the pool? No wonder he looked flushed. As he freed her breasts, he bent down to kiss their upper halves which were not submerged, apologizing, 'I'm not very good at holding my breath under water, but I'll work on these later.' And reached down below to slide her panties off. She helped him, accommodating him, tossing her underwear to join his at the side of the pool.  
  
He was hesitating. 'I wonder if we should do this. I haven't brought a condom.'  
  
'It's okay,' she assured him. 'It's different for us ferals. We know our cycles, and I'm not in heat right now.'  
  
'Does that mean you'll be any less passionate?' he teased.  
  
'Just a little. Unless you can convince me otherwise.'  
  
He was still holding back, like there was an internal struggle within him, his brown eyes taking on a wistful cast. He was looking away, not daring to meet her eyes. She wondered if it was that other woman. He would be betraying her, whoever she was, by doing this. Unless there were no promises between them, no exchanges of heartfelt devotion. Again, she wondered if he was in love with this other woman. Or, for Brennan, if being in love necessitated a vow of monogamy; or whether that dichotomy even applied to him. Things worked differently in his mind. He was curiously opaque that way.  
  
'Is it..that someone else?' she asked him, feeling her heart sink. Was he too far gone in his affair to be salvaged? Oh please, she thought, don't let it be so. Don't let it be too late. She was now sorry she hadn't done this earlier. She found herself hating this unknown woman with a newfound passion.  
  
He did not dare answer for a moment, seemingly eschewing the thought. 'I don't know,' he finally said. 'But it was meant to be a temporary thing. It's more or less over now. And I guess she'll go her way.'  
  
If you want to know, then ask him, she told herself. You've come so far, and you can't proceed until you help him over this hurdle.  
  
'And will you let her go? Are you in love with her?' She wondered if she was brave enough to hear the answer. She closed her eyes momentarily and opened them again. Have courage. You have nothing to lose.  
  
A fleeting look of indecision crossed his features, and then it passed. 'I promised myself a long time ago I would never fall in love again. And I was so sure of myself..until I met you, Shalimar. And now..'  
  
She felt the heat rising in her cheeks. Perhaps it wasn't too late. She had to plunge in the knife, deep.  
  
'I love you, Brennan,' she said before she could stop herself. And all those words she had rehearsed, all those secret desires she had shared with Emma...all of that went through the roof. She was left speechless, the words dying on her tongue, looking helplessly at him.  
  
He seemed to resolve something internally, crossing a threshold. For answer, he leaned over and kissed her, timidly at first, and then with a mounting passion. As she threw her arms around him, a warm glow suffusing her entire body, he grabbed her waist with both his hands and lifted her up, pressing her back against the side of the pool. His fervor was infectious, because she found herself caught up again, her own animal lust escalating as she wantonly circled his hips with her legs.  
  
Again, his eyes asked for permission. Which she consented, sighing. 'Take me, Brennan.'  
  
And he did. It was a slow penetration, and she felt herself being expanded, gasping at the size of him. It had been so long for her, she had almost forgotten what it was like. Tears sprung to her eyes and she had to bite his shoulder to keep from screaming out.  
  
'Am I hurting you?' he asked, stopping.  
  
'No, no. It's wonderful.'  
  
He slid himself all the way in and halted there, letting her get used to him. She felt so incredibly..filled. Like there was no room for anything else. Again, she felt something primal surfacing, threatening to burst open her dam. She wondered if she should surrender herself fully to it.  
  
'Just tell me when you're ready, okay?' he whispered.  
  
'Okay. I'm ready.'  
  
He began with gentle rhythmic strokes that teased her at first, and which increased in tempo into something wilder, more frenetic. She found herself responding to him, clasping him tightly with her thighs and inner muscles, squeezing him so hard that he gasped. The wave was coming again, and she knew she would not be able to hold back any longer. It was part of her, and she knew she should give him fair warning.  
  
'Brennan, don't mind me okay? I might hurt you a little, but it's just me.'  
  
'It's okay,' he said, understanding. 'I can take it.'  
  
And she surrendered completely to her feral side. It was indescribable; she felt her senses sharpening - her touch, taste, smell - the feel of him against her, around her and inside her; everything heightened into an intense tactile cornucopia. She wanted to scream at the agony and pleasure of it. She wanted to devour him - this magnificent male animal who would be the alpha of any pride - fuse his blood with hers, run naked with him in the wilds of the forest and ravish him, entwining him in her limbs, losing herself forever in the microcosm of their glorious coupling.  
  
As he pounded her, she abandoned all inhibitions. She remembered vaguely grinding herself against him like a pestle on mortar; grabbing him by the hair and biting him, hard, on his neck, his shoulder - whatever part of him that was accessible to her. Raking her nails into his back and buttocks and clawing. She heard him cry out, but she couldn't stop herself. He felt so good, and she was being transformed rapidly into one giant sensory orifice, floating murkily in her own pleasure cocoon.  
  
She came, her mind a blinding streak of light. And came again several times before she felt him ejaculate inside her, a squishy stickiness that melded with the water. This is the way it's meant to be, she thought, as she came down to earth, the sensations ebbing away in a sultry, languorous aftermath.  
  
'Are you..turned off?' she asked him after a while, when she was able to speak again. He was still inside her, though it was now a gratifying semi-hardness, like a torpid, spongy presence. She hadn't had that many non-feral lovers - or feral ones for the matter - but she knew it was important to ask. With the ferals, they accepted it as part of their nature, but he was the first elemental she had ever made love to. She was afraid that he might have found it too...alien.  
  
'No,' he laughed. 'I used to go out with someone who did that. And worse. It never turned me off. Quite the contrary, in fact.'  
  
She laughed with him, feeling ecstatic, like she was on an all-time high. Her instincts were awash with an outpouring of love and nurture for him, and she knew that again it was the DNA in her manifesting. This was a mate that she would savagely defend against all odds, and that included all predators and other suitors, be damned with them. He was quiet however. As he withdrew, his face took on a thoughtful, bruised expression.  
  
'So where do we go from here?' she questioned.  
  
'Yes,' he echoed. 'Where do we go from here?'  
  
*  
  
Emma closed her mind against the barrage of images and emotions, and severed the connection swiftly before she would become too embedded in them. She now understood her friend more completely than she ever had before. And with that understanding came a deep-seated empathy she might not have had if she had merely listened to Shalimar, and allowed her own jealousies to warp her.  
  
It didn't make her pain any lesser though. There were no villains here, only a simple story of two women - both vastly different - in love with one intriguing, complicated man whose mind to them was an enigma. Her realization of this cognizant fact allowed her to distance herself from the situation and observe the three of them from a psychological parabola. And whom would he choose? The goddess whom he had been in admiration/lust (love?) for over a year or the quieter best friend he had come to share his life's journey with?  
  
Oh Brennan, she thought. This doesn't make me love you any less. It just makes it more painful, that's all. If anyone is to blame, it's me. I should have told you earlier. And in any case, it perversely makes you more precious, more desirable, even more worth fighting for.  
  
'Emma?' Shal was smiling at her, taking her hand across the table. 'Thank you for listening. It's wonderful to be able to talk about it with somebody.'  
  
She smiled back. 'Sure, anytime.' She wondered if Shal noticed the melancholic expression in her eyes.  
  
She excused herself to go to the washroom, to gather her thoughts. They say hell hath no fury like a woman scorned (a version she far preferred, no matter what he said), but she strangely did not feel scorned. Just misinterpreted. Unlike half an hour ago, she no longer felt the need to furiously tear him apart (though that urge was only partially submerged). She had now come to a decision. And besides, like what Shalimar harbored, there were always hope.  
  
She looked around, making sure there was nobody in the restroom with her, and activated her com-ring.  
  
'Brennan?'  
  
He replied a second later, tersely. 'Yeah?'  
  
'I need to talk to you. Tonight.'  
  
TBC  
  
*  
  
*  
  
Note: This is a character driven story, and I just wrote what I thought the characters (with their personalities) would do in the situation ducking again from the rotten tomatoes. After all, what would you do if you were Shalimar? Or Emma? Or importantly, if you were Brennan? 


	12. Chapter 12 penultimate

Disclaimer: Bla di bla..  
  
Thanks for all the lovely reviews, guys. And thanks for not throwing rotten tomatoes. Don't throw any after this chapter either!  
  
This one is rated R . Warning, there is rape and slash in here, and if you can't handle it, skip the entire passage between the two asterisks. I can't help myself, I just love doing dark stories. If you do think you can handle it however, this entire dark vignette is dedicated to AliasJaneDoe, whose original character from her wonderful story, The Name of Science, inspired this. Thanks Jane.  
  
Apologies for being late. I was having writer's block. Someone I was chatting to over the net, another MX fan, has been killed in the recent war. Although I hardly knew him, it was a terrible tragedy. He was so young and so nice. Another thing that added to my depression (a lot less important than the first) was that I had erroneously been informed by some journalists that Matrix Reloaded, a movie I have been waiting with bated breath for over 4 years, might be banned over here. This was of course quashed immediately by Warner, who sent out press invites for next week. My spirits lifted overnight as I managed to inveigle my journalist friends into taking me along. Very lame, I know.  
  
Chapter 12 (penultimate)  
  
Of course he would have an idea like that, to go back to the very same motel where they had made love for the very first time; like a full circle, an epilogue for their final date. The thought of that simultaneously disheartened and piqued her; he was a true romantic in so many ways and that made the impending loss of his intimacy all the more agonizing. It was truly beyond depressing. Unless she could do something about it, which she fully intended to.  
  
Take a leaf from Shalimar, she told herself, clasping her hands nervously. Have courage.  
  
He too was nervous. He was at the wheel of his Camaro, staring straight ahead; invoking in her a weird sense of déjà vu. To complete the nostalgia, all the night needed was a little thunder and rain and shadows of trees swooping all over the car like a haunting.  
  
'So what did happen?' she asked, finally breaking the silence.  
  
'Huh?' For a moment, he looked alarmed. She understood the reason for it; he thought she had found out about Shal. The fact that he actually cared enough to keep that from her, although they were not officially dating, filled her with a curious sense of warmth. It actually made her want to smile. Oh Brennan, she thought. It's things like these that make me have no regrets about loving you.  
  
'I meant about what happened to you when you were twenty-three. Did you get Murder One?' She patted his hand reassuringly. 'I'm not terribly worried as you can see, because you are right here. So I know you couldn't have been found guilty.'  
  
'As a matter of fact, I was.' He glanced at her. 'But not for murder. Thank goodness for forensics, they found out I had nothing to do with it. I didn't talk about Maddie though. If I had, I knew I'd be as good as dead. But I did go to prison. They stuck me with five years for unlawful possession of firearms.'  
  
'Five years,' she breathed. 'You did that much time? I had no idea.'  
  
'I actually didn't do five years. But it's not a pretty story. It's about deception and betrayal. You sure you want to hear it?'  
  
She knew it was the final story he would tell. Naturally it would be about betrayal. How ironic. She had betrayed Shalimar by having him. He had betrayed her by having Shal. 'I'd like to hear it anyway,' she said. She had spent so many nights listening to his story; it was only apt that on this final night she would hear him complete it.  
  
'Okay.' He turned contemplative, and if the night wasn't so dark, she could have sworn he was blushing. 'I met someone in prison, who touched me in a way I didn't know I could be touched.'  
  
*  
  
* Five years. That was hell of a long time. Of course, there was always the possibility of early parole, but the thought of that did not dispel his feeling of utter gloom and despondency as he was led into a state penitentiary. At least, if he were to look on the bright side, he could take refuge from Maddie for a while. He'd let her simmer and maybe she would forget all about him and find some new boy toy to wreck her fantasies on. Prison as a sanctuary. He almost laughed out loud. Who ever would have thought of that?  
  
The very first day he arrived, they did a full body search on him. Then they ushered him to see the prison doctor, whom - to his surprise - was a pleasant-faced, bespectacled man in his mid-thirties. He had always thought people who worked in prison were all toughs. But this doctor looked sensitive and patient; and in fact, his eyes reminded Brennan of Maria Lipinski.  
  
'You ever had venereal disease? Asthma? Allergies? Diabetes?'  
  
'No.' He felt funny lying naked on the bed, being prodded all over. The doctor was examining him like he was some specimen, and taking an extra long time over it too. But maybe that was just prison.  
  
'You have a great body.' Brennan thought that was a strange thing for a doctor to say. He looked up to see the doctor curiously licking his lips, nervous-like. 'I mean to say you're pretty fit. You work out?'  
  
'I used to. If there's a gym here, show me where to sign up for it.'  
  
The doctor smiled suddenly, lighting up his whole face. ''You have a sense of humor. Keep it up. My name is Glen, by the way. If you have problems or anything... you can always ask to see me.'  
  
Brennan got up, rubbed his arms unselfconsciously - boy, the room was cold - and bent down to retrieve his clothes. 'Yeah. But I doubt very much I'd have problems.'  
  
*  
  
He had spoken too soon. They flooded him in the laundry room, led by a big black guy called Jed Crohn who was doing life for killing two people. There were nine of them, all hardcore criminals. He had been told they formed an entire faction in the prison community. And as a newbie, he was fresh meat. Careful, he told himself. Don't show them any fear.  
  
They were circling him, making catcalls and kissing noises. 'Hey pretty boy, you wanna be my bitch?' 'Look at him. Purtiest thing y'ever saw.' 'Yeah, take him Jed. Fuck him real good.'  
  
He knew it wasn't about sex. These guys weren't even homosexuals, they had wives and girlfriends outside. It was all about power; and in prison, rape was the ultimate form of domination. Nevertheless, all this discourse was not going to help him. He had to do something about it.  
  
They lunged.  
  
Find that node within you, he thought calmly, and channel. Whirling himself in the air, he executed a series of kicks that brought down the two closest to him. Lashing out his fists, he made contact with someone's nose, and was gratified to hear it crack. A well-placed elbow took out someone behind him. He pivoted, and smashed his foot into somebody's groin, not caring if he fought dirty.  
  
And still they came, swamping him, enraged now to find he was no easy prey. Dimly, he wondered where the guards were, or if they had been bribed to keep away. No, he had to fight this out. He ducked when he saw a fist swinging at him and threw a punch at somebody's solar plexus. His feet smashed into more faces, and he felt an arm break somewhere. He could not afford to lose this brawl because he knew their vengeance would be terrible.  
  
'The damned fuck,' he heard somebody say, spitting out teeth. 'Kill him.'  
  
You have to take them out cold, as many as you can, he told himself. It was the only way to even the odds. He had already taken out three, their bodies were sprawling on the floor. Six more to go. He felt someone club him on the back of his neck, and for a moment, he reeled. Not fair, he thought. They were using truncheons - and where the hell did they get those? Taking a deep breath, he spun, aiming a side blow at somebody's neck four down and grabbed the truncheon from the victim's hands before it could fall. He now had a weapon.  
  
He found himself facing off Jed, who was gazing at him with a newfound respect. 'Ya got moxie, kid. I'll give ya that. But it ain't gonna save ya.'  
  
'Come and get me then,' Brennan said between his teeth.  
  
They circled him warily, aware that he was dangerous. One of them swung a metal bar at his head, which he avoided, grabbing at his assailant's arm instead and twisting it. Again, he felt another snap. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw another truncheon descend and sidestepped it neatly, using his previous victim as a shield. There was a sickening crack as metal contacted with skull. Five down, he hazily thought.  
  
He didn't wait this time. He attacked, smashing the truncheon into somebody's face six down. The remaining three came at him all at once, flooring him, crushing him with their combined weight. He couldn't swing his weapon, it was at too close quarters, so he fought them however he could, kicking and biting. He felt something tear under his teeth - it was an ear - but before he could throw whoever it was on top of him off, something heavy descended onto his head. He heard the bone crack dully, the sound resonating in his brain.  
  
As he blacked out, his last thought was, At least I won't feel a thing.  
  
*  
  
He found himself waking up to bright lights in a place he barely recognized. It was only when the doctor - what was his name? Glen? - shimmered into view that he realized he was in the prison infirmary.  
  
A smile broke on Glen's tired face. 'Good morning. I was afraid you wouldn't wake up.'  
  
He felt weird, zombied out, as though he was floating in some para- universe. He tried to get up, but found that he could not move. His head and body were swathed in tubes and bandages. Glen was placing a steady hand on his shoulder, pressing him down. 'Don't even try. You're hurt pretty bad. We had to transfer you to state hospital, but you're back now. You've had surgery.'  
  
He attempted to move his tongue, which felt as swollen as though it had been stung by a bee. His voice came out gargled, but he was glad to know he could still talk. 'How long have I been out?'  
  
'Three weeks.'  
  
Three weeks! 'Wow,' he marveled. 'That must have been some fight.'  
  
Glen smiled. 'You pretty much filled up a ward upstate.'  
  
That made him want to chuckle, but his throat was swollen too. 'Maybe they'll think twice about messing with me. Pity. I would've liked to finish the fight. Maybe they'll give me a rematch.'  
  
Glen looked horrified. 'You don't mean that.' He paused, seemingly uncertain. 'Is the fight the only thing you remembered? Was there. anything else?'  
  
He wasn't naïve. Although his memory was fuzzy, he knew what had happened to him. He was only glad he had been out the whole time. That way he could pretend it all had blurred into one big beating. 'No, I don't remember.'  
  
'That's probably a good thing.' Glen sat down next to him. 'However if you should remember, or if you need to talk about it, I'm right here.'  
  
'I said I don't remember,' Brennan said shortly.  
  
Glen looked away, embarrassed.  
  
Throughout the next few weeks, Glen was at his side, changing his bandages, ministering antiseptic to his wounds, giving his limbs physiotherapy, sponge bathing him in bed. He thought that was odd, because the doctor had a couple of male assistants - in his previous experience in hospitals, that kind of stuff was usually left to who doctors considered lesser mortals. He was taking a long time to recover nevertheless. He had had a cracked skull, a chipped cervical disc; multiple upper limb and rib fractures and so many soft tissue bruises all over that he lost count of them.  
  
It was a very humiliating experience, having to be fed and taken care of in every single way, as though he was a newborn. He couldn't feed himself as both his arms had been broken and were in slings, so Glen fed him. Every meal, spooning gruel into his mouth and making sure he swallowed it.  
  
'Why are you so good to me?' He asked Glen one day. 'Don't you have any other patients?'  
  
He was surprised to see the doctor's face coloring. Glen seemed to ponder this before replying. And when he did, it was in the form of a question. 'Do you have family? Mother? Brothers?'  
  
'Nope, everyone's either died or deserted me. And considering my girlfriend put me in here, I think it's official we've broken up. So it's just me and the world.' He said this as a matter-of-factly, with no inflection of self-pity in his voice or thoughts. And he found this to be true. He had fended for himself for so long that he couldn't see it any other way. Nor did he think anyone would care if he died.  
  
Glen's eyes softened. 'Well, that's part of your answer. Most people here, they have someone who cares about them. But I've looked through your records and you don't seem to have anyone. And there's something about that which...touches people, I guess.'  
  
He was chagrined. 'And so you feel sorry for me?'  
  
'I didn't say that.' Glen's eyes met his. There was an undercurrent of something Brennan didn't want to address just yet, so he was the first to look away.  
  
When he was finally discharged from the prison ward, he had already done five months of his sentence. Strangely, the rape didn't bother him as much as he thought it would, probably because he had not been conscious through it. And he did have the ability to detach himself from painful experiences, pushing them to a secret corner in his mind so he didn't have to think about them; simply because life had too unbearable at times. It was at moments like these that he felt like an otherworldly spectator, looking on disinterestedly at the ravaged, despairing wreck that was his body.  
  
It frightened him sometimes, this apathy, this impersonal un-emotion; almost as though he were numb to all pain. He wondered if he was turning into something subhuman.  
  
He knew that the episode with Jed was far from over. After about a month, they cornered him again in the laundry room (where else, since he had been perpetually put on laundry duty). He counted the nine of them again, with countenances that ranged from the wary to the baleful.  
  
'Mebbe we should just kill him this time, Jed,' someone said.  
  
'Yeah, he's too fuckin' much trouble. Earned us one month solitary last time.'  
  
Jed said, 'Why don't ya bend over, kid? Be nice 'n' 'comodatin' like, so we don't hafta kill ya.'  
  
'And I'm thinking prison life's made you soft, Jed,' Brennan said. 'Turning you queer and all. I've heard about you. You grew up on the streets, just like me. And maybe you've forgotten the rules.' He gestured around him. 'You gonna hide behind your goons, or you gonna face me like a man - one on one?'  
  
He had thrown down the gauntlet. It was his best chance of ending this.  
  
'If I win, you and your queers leave me alone - forever. Unless of course, you don't think you can take me.' He watched Jed's face carefully. It was mottling. The big man was of a height with him - about 6' 4" - but a lot bulkier; particularly because he had lost a lot of weight during his convalescence.  
  
'Ya tryin' ta cut a deal, kid?'  
  
'Like you said, I've got moxie. And everyone's here a witness.'  
  
The big man eyed him in what seemed like an interminable silence. Probably no one had challenged him in a long time. 'Ya got it,' he finally said softly. 'Stan' back, all 'f ya. I'm gonna teach this kid a less'n.'  
  
They faced off, squaring off each other like two gladiators in a ring. Jed was the first to attack, a fist smashing straight for Brennan's face, which he averted and countered with a blow to Jed's ribs. Spinning, he aimed a high kick at the black man's face and he felt a crunch. He was gambling that Jed was a streetfighter through and through, relying on his size and strength to win him most fights without the added discipline of a martial arts regime. He had drawn first blood. Jed spat out a tooth and glared at him.  
  
They traded blows again, feinting, tackling, holding nothing back. Jed was no easy pushover. He didn't get to be the leader of prison bullies for nothing. He had no particular style of fighting, but his strength was devastating; and when his blows landed, Brennan felt the wind knocked completely out of him. Within fifteen minutes of sparring, they had both bloodied each other. A purple bruise was forming around Jed's eye, and when Brennan licked his mouth, he tasted the coppery tang of blood. Any chance of ending this early dissipated when he realized they were evenly matched.  
  
Jed seemed to realize this too. 'Ya bin takin' lessons, kid.'  
  
Around them, there were whistles and catcalls. 'End it, Jed.' 'Yeah, cut up the kid. Then we'll have a go at him.' Someone threw a knife onto the floor, and it clattered across the cheap tiles, stopping right in front of Jed.  
  
'Street rules bin changin'.' Jed bent down, picking the knife up. ' 'ere, we make them rules.'  
  
He slashed suddenly, and Brennan ducked too late, the tip of the knife catching him agonizingly on the flesh of his arm and across his chest. The blood welled, staining his shirt. He saw the knife descending again, and grabbed hold of Jed's wrist with both his hands. God, but the man was excruciatingly strong. With his other fist, Jed was pummeling his stomach to make him let go, but he knew if he did, he was as good as dead.  
  
He wondered...just wondered if he should do it. And decided he would. To hell with playing fair. His opponent wasn't doing it anyway and he had to even out the odds. Channeling, he summoned a blast of electricity. It wasn't enough to fry the big man he had made sure it couldn't even be seen but Jed dropped his knife in surprise, his arm literally petrified.  
  
Before he could recover, Brennan struck, grabbing his outstretched arm and twisting it into an unnatural angle. There was a sickening crack. 'That's for not playing fair.' Still holding on to Jed's arm, he dealt a near fatal blow to the black man's neck, blocking off the carotid artery. And that's for the rape, he grimly thought, as Jed fell onto his knees, and then face down to the floor with a thud.  
  
*  
  
They flung him into solitary for two months, passing his food through a slit on the door. He had a lamp, a broken toilet, a moldy mattress covered with bedbugs that brings back memories, he wryly thought, but nothing else. There was nothing to do but look at the graffiti on the walls and nit pick his own thoughts. He was amused to note that graffiti in solitary rooms were usually obscene, but those that covered the cell walls where the prisoners lived were meticulously crafted, like decorative works of art. It mattered if you had to live with it, looking at it day after day.  
  
He thought solitary meant truly being solitary, so he was surprised when the door opened and Glen came in, carrying a medical bag.  
  
'I got them to let me come in daily and dress your wounds,' Glen explained. 'I told them if I didn't treat you, you would turn septic and they would have your death on their hands.'  
  
Brennan grinned. 'And here I was thinking you came because you missed me.' It amused him to see Glen color. Everything seemed to be amusing him greatly since the fight, because it felt so fucking good to beat the bastard, and if he had to do it again, he would.  
  
Glen came every day to swab iodine on his extensive gash and to check on his stitches. 'I'm getting them to let you go shower at least every other day, or you'll get pus on this thing. It's not so bad but he smiled they won't know if you don't tell them.'  
  
It had been on the back of Brennan's mind since the first day he arrived, but he hadn't wanted to explore it. Now it seems, he had to. It wouldn't be fair otherwise to someone who had been so good to him. 'Glen, he asked carefully. 'Would you mind me asking if you're gay?'  
  
There was an expectant pause as the air between them hung heavy. With equal care, Glen replied, 'And if I am?'  
  
'Do you...have any designs on me?'  
  
Glen's eyes met his, looking like dark moons behind his spectacles. 'And...and if I did.... what would you say?'  
  
He truly did not know what to say. He didn't know what made it worse - because he was half-expecting it or because it came from someone who had helped give him his life back. If it hadn't been Glen, he would have rejected the notion outright without a second thought. He would never turn gay - he liked women too much for that - but if he had to reject Glen, he wanted to do it in the nicest way possible.  
  
'You do know that I'm straight, right?' He remembered his own painful episode with Maria, and he didn't want someone as nice as Glen to go through that.  
  
'Yes,' Glen said quietly.  
  
There was a tortured silence.  
  
Glen looked up, his eyes a kaleidoscope of emotions. 'Would you be frightened if I told you that I've loved you since the day I saw you?'  
  
Brennan held his breath. 'You love me?'  
  
'Is that so difficult to believe? When I first saw you, I thought you were the most beautiful thing I've ever seen. But that's not all. There's something about you that's so much like a Greek tragedy.. you're tough and yet so vulnerable, and I don't think you know it. It just makes one want to take you away from yourself and hold you.'  
  
Brennan flinched. He couldn't help himself.  
  
Glen smiled sadly. 'I thought that would be your reaction. But just think about it okay? I was straight once, and someone showed me that love transcended all races, and even genders. It was a revelation to me and it was the most rewarding thing I've ever experienced. I hope you would experience that one day, the pure joy of love for love's sake.' He touched Brennan lightly on the cheek. 'I would do anything for you, you know. Anything. All you have to do is ask. So just think about it. You've got lots of time. I can't see you anymore after this, till you come out of solitary.'  
  
When Glen leaned over to give him a parting kiss on the lips, something made him not pull back.  
  
He had a lot of time to think about it. He thought about it when he did his morning push-ups, when he went through his training routines, both physical and mental. And he felt thoroughly ashamed of himself at the end of every day. Because he was not thinking about how he could reciprocate the love of somebody who was deeply enamoured of him, but how he could manipulate that love to his advantage. He couldn't believe how low he had sunk, and he had no excuse, other than he was weary of being beaten down by life.  
  
And when someone offers you a lifeline, he thought, you yank on it and pull him down with you. He wondered if he could ever look at himself in a mirror again.  
  
Any doubts he had about this duplicity were dispelled when, almost at the end of his solitary tenure, the guard tapped on his door. 'Word's out you're gonna get killed as soon as you walk out of here. Jed's recovered and he's mad. You made him lose face in front of his cronies, and he has do something to establish his hold again.'  
  
He felt blood draining from his head. 'Aren't you guys going to protect me?'  
  
'We don't know when he'll strike. You gotta understand Jed's doing life already and he's got nothing to lose. If he kills you, he's still doing life, no skin off his nose. But then you'd be dead.'  
  
His thoughts were racing. This was all going wrong, terribly wrong. He had gambled on street honor, but with the likes of Jed, there was no street honor. For chrissake, the man had killed two people in cold blood. He should have realized it when Jed had picked the knife up.  
  
'Could you do something for me?' He asked the guard. 'I ..uh..need medical attention.'  
  
When Glen came with his customary medical bag, Brennan took a deep breath and said, 'I thought about what you told me. And I...need your help. There's going to be a hit on me. I have to escape.'  
  
Glen searched his eyes. 'And if I helped you? Would I ever see you again?'  
  
He looked away. 'I..don't really know what you want from me...but I can..do whatever it is you want me to do.' It's not so bad, he told himself. You've sold yourself plenty of times over - to the mob, to anyone who pays you to do something for them. This wasn't so different. And besides, it wasn't as though he was a total virgin in this.  
  
Glen said sadly, 'You miss the whole point completely. My love for you isn't about sex, though I can't deny that I desire you. All I want is for us to see each other after this - to talk and maybe even date a little. I just want you to give us a chance. You won't know unless you've tried.'  
  
He wanted to crawl away for even thinking the thoughts he was thinking. 'Okay, I can do that.'  
  
'Then when you get out of here, make an excuse to come see me. I'll have a plan.'  
  
Several days later, behind the locked doors of the infirmary's examination room, Glen gave him a vial, a tourniquet and an empty syringe. He listened carefully as the doctor outlined what he had to do. Even he had to admit it was risky. But he had to escape. He was a sitting duck in here. Out there, even if he was hunted down like a fugitive, at least he had a chance.  
  
'Remember,' Glen said, leaning over to give Brennan another full kiss on the lips, soft, slow and searching. 'You have to trust me okay? I love you and I won't let anything bad happen to you.'  
  
When he walked out, his mind was in turmoil. Everything was happening at once, and he wished he could just wipe the slate clean and start all over again. Well, he was about to be given a chance. He looked all round, ensuring no one saw him and ducked into a toilet. Locking himself in one of the stalls, he withdrew the syringe from inside his shirt, emptied the contents of the vial with it and wrapped the tourniquet around his left arm. This is how a junkie feels like, he thought, as he injected the liquid into his bulging vein. Here goes nothing.  
  
'It'll take some time to work,' Glen's voice echoed in his mind as he flushed away the vial, tourniquet and syringe, making sure the bowl was empty. 'Now walk out into the courtyard. Make sure there are at least several guards standing round. Make sure they can see you.'  
  
He walked out, feeling strange, squinting in the sunlight. The liquid was ebbing in his veins, a cool and yet fiery presence. His legs were beginning to feel leaden. In the periphery of his blurring vision, he saw Jed in a corner of the yard, walking over to him. He's going to kill me, he thought faintly, as his knees buckled and he fell onto the ground in a sudden paralysis.  
  
'Prisoner down!' someone yelled. 'We need help here.' He heard several footsteps running towards him and saw faces peering down. He could not speak or move his limbs. 'Call medic quickly.' His chest felt constricted, and his breathing became labored and painful. For a terrifying second, he thought: I need air. I can't breathe. Oh God, Glen's in with them. They're all trying to kill me.  
  
A veil descended across his vision as his eye muscles relaxed, closing his eyes. He could still hear what was happening though, and see the gathering shadows through the reddish haze of his eyelids. After what seemed like an eternity, he heard Glen's voice. 'Stand back, this man's not breathing.' He felt someone lifting his neck up so that his head fell backwards, and his mouth being prised open. A metal object was inserted into his throat and a tube painfully stuck deep into it. His brain was clouding with little bursts of light and speckles, and he remembered thinking, This is what oxygen deprivation feels like. There was a sudden whoosh of air into his lungs and he heard Glen say to someone, 'You keep pumping this air bag.' Then he felt a prick in his forearm, and he knew no more.  
  
When he awoke, it was like a reversal of the process he had been through. Again, he could hear voices while his eyelids remained stubbornly shut. Glen was saying, '..safe to put down cause of death as cerebral aneurysm. And you can put down little details in it. You were always better at that than me.'  
  
Someone else's voice. 'Is he worth it? He is a con, you know, and he's straight. I just don't want you to get hurt.'  
  
'Yeah, he's worth it.'  
  
Brennan flickered his eyes open. He was lying naked on a cold slab with a thin white sheet over him. He found he could turn his head. Glen was looking down at him along with a thin Asian man. 'Look who's back from the dead. Brennan, this is my coroner friend I was telling you about.'  
  
'Do I get a discount for cremation?' Brennan said weakly.  
  
They exited the morgue quietly in Glen's car, with Glen driving and him hiding in the back seat. 'We'll have to build you a whole new identity since you're officially dead,' Glen was saying. 'A new name, a new life. And you won't ever have to worry about money, I'll take care of everything.'  
  
I have plenty of money, he thought. I just need a way to access it. 'Why don't you stop the car? I'll get into the front seat with you.'  
  
The car drew to a halt by the side of the road. As soon as he slid in, he was met with a clasping of hands, a passionate kiss. 'I love you,' Glen said. 'I can't help myself, but I really do..no matter what happens.' There was a sadness in his voice, as though he knew what Brennan was about to do.  
  
He felt something stir within his chest. If you have to do it, do it quickly. Summoning a tesla coil, he said, 'I'm sorry, but you can see what a monster I really am. I'm not even fully human. Thank you for everything, but I can't stay with you.' He gently brought down his palm onto Glen's cheek, electrocuting his would-be lover into a painful slumber and laying him to rest on the seat.  
  
'And that,' Brennan told Emma, 'is how I betrayed yet another person who loved me. For three years, I didn't use my real name; not only for the obvious reason but because it sickened me.'  
  
*  
  
* Only he would think of things like that. Room 211. The very same motel room they had first made love in. She wanted to hug him 'Oh Brennan, you remembered' but he hugged her instead, 'I want to make this special. We're going to stay awake all night together.'  
  
He opened the door and it was just as she remembered it. The threadbare carpet, the fluorescent light overhead that flickered a few times before it caught, droning a lazy but comforting buzz. The armchair in the corner on which they had hung their jackets. The television facing the bed, the one that had twenty-four cable channels, with porn served after midnight. And most of all, the bed with the same dull green bedspread, underneath which was tucked a rough green blanket that mildly scratched.  
  
The sense of déjà vu threatened to overwhelm her, only she knew it wasn't déjà vu at all. She had been here, like a virgin bride on her honeymoon, quivering with trepidation as she awaited him in the bed. And now this would be full closure, a Ferris wheel arriving at its stopping point. Here they would make the choice to disembark or hop on for a further whirlwind ride, their worlds spinning out of sync while those left behind remained at the bottom, looking on wistfully, their upturned faces crestfallen.  
  
No matter what happened tonight, she knew somebody was going to get hurt.  
  
He undressed carefully, starting with his jacket. He was wearing yet another tatty tank top, and he peeled that off as well. He was about to unbuckle his belt, when she stopped him. 'Brennan, we really need to talk.'  
  
He looked half-scared, as though he too realized that what she said tonight would change their lives forever, and he was afraid to face it. She almost felt sorry for him. But she couldn't put this off any longer. She had delayed it long enough to her own detriment, and she only hoped like Shal that it wasn't too late.  
  
They sat on the bed, holding hands timorously. She liked his hands. They were rough, a workman's hands with calluses, but she knew they could be so gentle. Kissing them, she felt her heart wrench within her; she was about to offer it to him, blood red and beating. Pulsing with tremulous hope and the dread of an icy-cold dagger of rejection.  
  
'Brennan,' she said, a heavy pain in her chest, 'I love you. I'm in love with you. I know I said I wouldn't fall in love with you, but I did, somewhere in the middle. I'm sorry.'  
  
There followed an ominous silence. He did not look surprised - she was right, he had expected it. She searched his face, but his expression was implaceable. His eyes took on a thoughtful cast, and his lips parted slightly, as though he was about to say something, but decided against it.  
  
She expected to feel instant agony - the fact he did not reciprocate immediately, that left so many speculations, open-ended or otherwise - but there was a curious numbness instead, as though she had been waiting for this reaction so long that she had been anesthetized against it.  
  
Unable to bear it any further, she reached out with her mind. Remembering the mental barricade he had unconsciously put up earlier, she was surprised to find his mind now soft and porous, like a sponge. Oh, but he was vulnerable right now, extremely vulnerable; and she seized the advantage, probing deeper and flinging out with her tentacles.  
  
She found herself being sucked right into him.  
  
*  
  
Brennan gazed at Emma; she was so beautiful, so demure, so pure. Her declaration of love for him had not come as a surprise; he had known it the moment she had called him on her com-ring. 'We have to talk,' she had said. From his own experience, when women wanted to talk, it usually meant admissions of love. Or hatred, for what he had put them through. Sometimes both.  
  
It had scared him. It was something he had not consciously prepared himself for. She was his best friend, the only female best friend he ever had in his life. He remembered the day he met her at the club so long ago, when she had sent him a distress signal out of all the people around them and he had felt an instant connection. It was as though he had found..family. Perhaps two months ago he would still have affectionately referred to her as the sister he never had, but in light of recent events...no. She had transcended that bond.  
  
He had started this because she was in need. It was normal for him to offer his help to women in need. Ever since Dash, he had made it a life mission to be chivalric - and if they wanted to offer him something in return, who was he to turn it down? Even if they didn't offer him anything, that was all right too. He got pleasure out of just being with them. Women seemed to realize that too. It was an innate, invisible and yet tangible portion of his charm; they told him that was part of the reason why they found him so attractive.  
  
When he had offered to make love to Emma, he had thought it would be just that - making love for one night, then going back to the real world; them being best friends again, laughing, holding hands, hugging. Part of him that wanted to scream out, Don't be an idiot. You know it's different for women. Sex for most of them goes beyond sex...they have more connections in their brain than you do, so their physical is juxtaposed with their emotional; and after a while, they can't separate sex from love anymore, or love from lust. How many times have you been the brunt of a love affair gone awry?  
  
He had wanted to believe it was different with Emma. After all, they had been friends who had always been there for each other. With other women, the (usually sexual/romantic) relationship from the start had been established upfront - the lines were drawn very clearly. When the affairs had ended, he had not retained any friendships, he usually found this as awkward as they did. He had had no experience with friends turned lovers, simply because he didn't have that many women friends. He was now to find the boundaries were tenuous.  
  
This was an experiment for him in many ways, not that he was conscious of it from the start. He was now wishing it didn't involve Emma. Not if she was to end up hurt.  
  
And now, questioning himself, perhaps subconsciously he had wanted Emma to fall in love with him. Perhaps, just perhaps, he had wanted them to cement their bond into something neither of them could walk away easily from. Having lost his mother, he had this seen happen with Maria - who in many ways was a substitute mother figure; and that had not stopped him from falling in love with her, and wanting her to fall in love with him. Perhaps he suffered from some sort of Freudian complex; he wasn't sure if this one was called Oedipal. His subconscious motives had always been vague, even to him, mostly because he had closed up so many parts of himself along the years. With Emma, she had been a sister figure; and perhaps his self- preservation motives - to bind the one who takes care of you - had again manifested.  
  
Nonetheless, he would like to believe that he was driven by a yearning to love and be loved, like all human beings. Somehow that didn't make him sound like such a psych case.  
  
Perhaps if it had only been for one night, none of what subsequently happened would have happened. As it was, he had prolonged their love affair. Mea culpa, he thought, I am guilty. He had enjoyed their intimacy, hugely because she was so young and inexperienced, and it had given him pleasure to introduce her - like a Svengali with his favorite pupil - to matters he was expert in. She reminded him of Dash in so many ways, and they always say the first time, that first brush of unsullied innocence, was also the most memorable. He had truly enjoyed making love to Emma.  
  
If he were to question himself - was he in love with her - that was truly something he could not answer. In that respect, he had been truthful with her. He loved her, he did not doubt it. But it wasn't the head-over- heels, topsy-turvy, worlds-spinning sort of love he had only experienced once. Then again, perhaps he was kidding himself. That sort of love did not exist, not in the real world outside books and magazine material. It didn't matter however, she was someone he could live with the rest of his life and be perfectly happy. She knew him so well, inside out, and he was certain she loved him for something he possessed far beyond the physical, only he wasn't sure what it was. He had poured out his life story to her partly because she had told him hers, and mostly because he needed to tell someone. He couldn't see himself telling anyone else.  
  
If only she had come to him earlier.  
  
If only Shalimar had not come into the picture. Though if he had to be honest, she had never left it. Again, that open-ended question - was he in love with Shalimar? He could not answer that as well, but if love meant a quickening of his heartbeat, a moistening of his palms, a hardening of his loins every time she gazed in his direction, then he would be in love with her.  
  
What he felt for Shalimar was totally different from what he felt for Emma. Shal was someone he had instantly acknowledged as a physical equal when he had met her. Beautiful, he had thought, Proud. She was going to resent his presence in the team, because she was such a dominant. Along the way however, being paired up with her constantly on team missions, he had come to respect and trust her. Though he would never be as comfortable with her as he was with Emma, she kept him too much on edge. She was exciting and limitless, he could watch her for hours, admiring her athletic, lithe beauty that was so much a part of her that he could not help but be bedazzled by it. She was truly the epitome of his fantasy woman.  
  
Part of what made Shal so attractive was her inaccessibility, as though she was an unattainable statue on a pedestal, like Galatea in the Pygmalion story. When Galatea was made flesh, like Shalimar every time her Amazonian façade crumbled, allowing him a glimpse of the soft, pliant woman beneath; he wanted to hold her in his arms and take her away. (What was it Glen had said?) Yes. Take her away from herself.  
  
Like the other day, when she had held him and told him she loved him. It was something he had waited so long to hear that he had almost given up hope. His heart had melted; he literally felt it liquefy into a pulpy, gelatinous mass that resembled something in the romance novels he sometimes picked up just to understand women better; and he had responded the only way he knew how. Physically. This was not something he had felt when Emma had told him pretty much the same thing. What he felt with Emma was..he couldn't really describe it..a tangible warmth all over, a rush of protectiveness for sweet innocence, like he wanted to envelop her in a cocoon and shield her from the rest of the world.  
  
If he had to sum it up, Emma would be the one he would choose with his mind, if he set himself thinking about it; and Shalimar would be the one he would choose with his heart and body. Both mind and heart were equally important to him.  
  
Together, merged into one, Em and Shal would be, for him, the perfect woman.  
  
If only he could have them both.  
  
He had even thought about it. Yesterday, when he was out alone, cruising the bars for a final fling. His intuition told him it would be final because tonight he would have to make a choice; and that prospect had frightened him somewhat, but not to the extent of giving him cold feet.  
  
Women just didn't view sex the same way he did. He saw it more as recreation, something he had done so often it became routine. He could be perfectly deep in a relationship with one woman and still be having occasional sex with someone who caught his fancy for an hour, and the latter would not have meant anything to him. But no, his girlfriends were terribly antsy about things like these, so he made sure they never found out. He could never make them understand it was really no big deal, and that it didn't make him care for them any less. But since it mattered to them...oh well, he'd play along and keep mum about it. And he figured both Emma and Shalimar would probably think it was a very big deal.  
  
He had ended up at a hotel bar, sipping a grasshopper, wincing at the salt when a woman approached him. She was a blonde and she spoke with an accent. 'Two hundred dollars,' she had said. He had retorted, 'That's expensive.' It was not as though he hadn't frequented hookers before. He didn't need to, with all the free sex thrown his way, but sometimes it was less complicated, especially when he needed release and wanted to walk away unscathed. This was something he would never tell Emma or any other woman he was involved with. They wouldn't understand.  
  
'No,' the blonde said. 'I will pay you two hundred if you will have sex with me. And my friend will give you another two hundred if you do her as well.' She nodded at a redhead sitting in a corner, eyeing their exchange.  
  
Instead of being outraged, he was amused. They thought he was a hooker? Did he have that kind of look? He figured they were European tourists or something, so maybe that would be forgivable. The blonde and the redhead part was admittedly tantalizing.  
  
'Tell you what. I'll have sex with you and your friend, together, and you don't have to pay me anything. Deal?' He liked threesomes, not that he would ever tell either Emma or Shalimar. After skipping out of prison, he had left the state he was born and incarcerated in, never to return. He had drifted for a while, assuming a new wild child identity; partying all night, doing booze and drugs though he would like to reassure himself he had never gone to the pharmacopoeia extreme and plenty of orgies, though he had always drawn the line at men. He had sobered up after a couple of years, but it was still nice to reminisce about the good old days.  
  
They took him up the hotel room they shared - they were indeed Scandinavian tourists, and they thought he looked exotically Latino - and he had made love to both of them, wildly, hotly. Somewhere between giving head to the blonde while being straddled by the red, he thought about Emma and Shalimar and how wonderful it was to have them both. The thought was not oeuvre, he did love them both in special, different ways. He wondered what they would think of it.  
  
It was with this proposal that he now faced Emma, whose eyes were a little glazed, like she too was terribly preoccupied - he hoped she wasn't too disappointed he hadn't replied all at once. 'I love you, Emma. I really do, believe me. But...is it possible,' he asked timidly, 'that I could have you and Shalimar both? I love you both equally. And I really don't know how to choose between the two of you.'  
  
He waited nervously. He would not be surprised if she chose to claw his eyes out. Women were unfathomable that way; and though he knew Emma better than most, there was always that wild streak of unpredictability about them. It made them exciting, but also a little terrifying.  
  
There was the sharp intake of her breath. He wished he had her gift, the ability to look into one's mind. Then he would know what she was thinking of right this moment.  
  
'Brennan,' she said after a long pause. 'You know that's really not possible. It would never work out.' Was she disappointed that he had even suggested it? She looked away, not meeting his eyes. 'You will have to choose.'  
  
He was afraid she would say that, though ultimately he knew it would be the only path. Choose. He closed his eyes. He didn't want to hurt either of them. But it was too late. A wretched little voice inside of him, You should have thought of that sooner, you two-timing creep.  
  
You know too that you would choose Shalimar, even though you will have a longer and happier relationship with Emma. You would choose Shal because you've been pining for her for, like, forever and you have to try, no matter how much you will hurt each other in the end. You've always been a little frightened of Emma; she can read you like a book and you've got too many uncomfortable secrets to hide. You are not proud of yourself but you don't want to reveal that repeatedly to a lover. You want to maintain a little mystery in the relationship, you don't want your lover to look at you in pity as someone too vulnerable. And you don't think you can have that with Emma, even if she loves you in spite of yourself.  
  
God, but you're so shallow. You're not ready for something as deep and complete as what you can have with Emma.  
  
And yet, you don't want to hurt her, because you're responsible for all this, for her falling in love with you. You would never forgive yourself if you hurt her.  
  
His heart heavy with regret, he finally said, 'I've been thinking about it. And I've decided I can't really choose. So I won't choose. I don't want to hurt either you or Shal, so I'll just...not be with either of you. It isn't so bad. We've lived together, all three of us, without being involved for so long. We can just go back to where we were again, just like none of this had ever happened.'  
  
Even as he said that, he wondered if it were mere wishful thinking. He couldn't erase what had happened. Nobody could, it will forever be indelibly etched in their memories. But it was for the best. That way, by not getting involved, he wouldn't have to hurt either of them terminally.  
  
*  
  
With a gasp, Emma extricated herself.  
  
She couldn't believe what she had just heard. As she lost herself in his mental Diaspora, her emotions had alternated from hope, to understanding, to chagrin (when she discovered the extent of what he hid from her and the rest of them) and finally to acceptance. She understood why he chose Shal, it was not unexpected; the very act of her invading his mind without his permission attested to it. Even though she understood the reason for it, it disappointed her deeply. There was no way she could not be hurt by it, she loved him too much; though it had hurt a lot less than she originally thought it would, mostly because she had prepared herself for it. She knew there had been a reason for her overt pessimism; as an empath, anticipatory grief could almost be taken for precognition.  
  
But his sudden sacrificial act in the end - or was it redemption? - surprised her. He was forgoing a possible relationship with Shal, whom he had worshipped for so very long, just so he could protect them from further destruction.  
  
Oh the foolish, foolish man. But he was oh so loveable. This declaration of his touched her more deeply that she would ever have thought possible. That he cared about her enough to make a sacrifice.. if it was possible, she found herself loving him more than ever.  
  
If she loved him, she couldn't let him do it. And she did love him, in spite of him choosing Shal over her.  
  
If you love him, her heart told her, then let him go.  
  
'Brennan,' she took his face in her hands and looked deeply into his eyes. 'I love you. I love you so much that I'm telling you this now. You must never be afraid to choose. So I'm doing this for you, because you're afraid to do it for yourself. Whatever happens, know that I will always love you.'  
  
And with that, she entered his mind again, ravaging through it in a way she was barely conscious of, looking for that little kernel, that moist little node that only she could nudge. She found it in the tangled neurofibrillary synapses of his brain, and began to erase all his memories of tonight, up to the point prior to her love declaration.  
  
With a fullness in her chest so heavy she thought her heart would be crushed, she planted a final suggestion in his mind. A mental whisper: You love Shalimar. Don't deny yourself. You deserve it, for everything that's ever happened to you. Go to her. She loves you.  
  
As she exited, almost collapsing in exhaustion, she wondered why an act of nobility could prove so bleak.  
  
TBC  
  
P/s: Sigh...I love this Emma character. She's so charitable. I don't know if I'd be so nice. 


	13. Chapter 13

Disclaimer: Bla di bla..  
  
Yes! Somebody (Deichtine) did spot that Les Miz reference, it was indeed Inspector Javert I had in mind. And as always, hugs to my lovely beta, Amanda, for doing such a good job.  
  
This one is rated R upfront, PG13 later.  
  
Chapter 13 (final)  
  
There was an air of finality to it all, and that was why she wanted to preserve every moment in a jewel-encrusted case, like a precious heirloom, to behold and cherish in her future years. As he sat on the bed, dazed and confused, she kissed him reassuringly, hoping she had left no other permanent marks. The temporal lobe, which stored memory, was such a fragile thing.  
  
'And...' he looked questioningly at her, 'how did I get here...I don't remember...I thought I was standing over there....' He shook himself. 'I must be getting old.'  
  
'It doesn't matter,' she said. 'We are here, and it's our last night together. So we're going to make it special.'  
  
'Yes, special,' he echoed. His eyes softened. 'I did have fun, you know, Emma. This past month.'  
  
'So did I.' She smiled ruefully. 'But we both agreed to move on. And you taught me so much about myself...I'll always think of you when I...pass it on.'  
  
He grinned cockily, a glimpse of his former self. 'Hey, when you're in doubt, you can always come to the master.' Turning serious, he added, 'Do you have someone..waiting for you in the wings?'  
  
'Yes. Yes I do. And you?'  
  
He seemed to search himself - she thought for one frightened moment she had erased his memories of Shal - and then he nodded. 'I think so.  
  
For one heartfelt, tender beat, they looked at each other, the weight of so many loving memories behind them. Then he took her in his arms. 'Emma..I will always love you, you know that.'  
  
'I will always love you too.' She was sure he no longer remembered how deeply she meant that.  
  
His nearness was giving her an ache, and he seemed to feel it too. She heard his breathing quicken, his chest was rising rapidly against hers and his mouth sought hers urgently. She responded by devouring it, sucking at his lips with fearsome intensity, glorifying in a sudden surge of reckless abandonment. She had nothing more to lose and she was going to enjoy him tonight, every bit of him, before she turned him over to Shalimar.  
  
They undressed, peeling the rest of their clothes off hastily and falling on top of each other. She wanted to explore everything with him, and when she pushed him on the bed, holding his hips down with her palms and taking him into her mouth with an embarrassingly wanton hunger, he laughed out loud. 'Goodness Emma, I might have to cry rape.' He tasted wonderful though; and as his hands, groping in the tangled trails of her hair, guided her into a moist, sucking rhythm, she was thinking - I could grow to like this.  
  
When he had returned the favor many times over (he said, 'Most men don't like giving head, but I do. You can always train them though by withholding favors, and they'll be putty in your hands.'), he reached down for his pants, seemingly lost in thought. 'I'm not sure if I was supposed to have brought you something..' she was alarmed, perhaps her hatchet job on his brain had worse repercussions than she had anticipated '...but anyway, here it is. At least, I think this is what it is.' He withdrew a tube of lubricant from his pocket, frowning. 'Now why would I bring this...?'  
  
'Because I was a virgin, remember?' she said helpfully. 'At least I was until last week, when you helped me. You do remember that, don't you?'  
  
'Oh yeah.' He didn't sound convinced. He shrugged. 'Anyway, it's better to be safe than sorry. Have you ever used KY Jelly before?' She shook her head. 'Well, trust me, it will help. And I will just put this on...' He tore at a condom sachet with his teeth.  
  
She stopped him. 'No. I want to feel you, all of you, tonight.' She wanted to experience what Shal had, the completeness of skin to skin, the totality of no barriers between them.  
  
'Are you sure? It can be risky.'  
  
'I'll take a pill tomorrow.' When he eyed her in concern, she said, 'Trust me, I'm a big girl. I know what I'm doing.'  
  
'Okay then.' He kissed her, and then slathered a generous dollop of lubricant on himself. 'If it hurts, you tell me to stop, and I can always put on more of this.' He eased her with lubricant as well, massaging her sensuously until she was writhing at the slippery coolness. Then he entered her with two of his fingers. 'Is it okay?' When she nodded, he said, 'I'm a lot larger than this, so we'll just take it slow, one bit at a time.'  
  
He laid her back against the bed gently, and opened her legs. 'Just relax, okay?' When she gazed down at his massive erection, he shielded her eyes. 'Don't look. Close your eyes.' She wanted to smile. He was still concerned that he was going to hurt her. He didn't know she would go through a thousand times that amount of hurt just to feel him inside her for the first and very last time.  
  
When he entered her slowly, just an inch, she had to recoil. He was right, it did hurt. For a moment, she thought her problem wasn't solved, but then she figured he had been there anyway, all the way in he wouldn't lie about something like that, so it truly had to be in her head. Was this really what it felt like? It was like being torn apart..geez, and women were supposed to like this. Maybe it got better with practice. But it didn't really matter anyway, as long as he was here, holding her intimately. She now understood that old adage on why some women traded sex just for love.  
  
'You okay?' he asked, solicitous as always.  
  
'Yes.' She smiled encouragingly. 'Go on.'  
  
'You're not really enjoying this, are you?'  
  
'I enjoy being with you, Brennan.'  
  
He kissed her. 'It'll get better, I promise.' She felt him inch himself inside some more, letting her get used to it. 'Do you want me to use more jelly?' He made to withdraw, but she grasped his buttocks, saying, 'No.' The trauma of penetration was painful enough, she didn't want to go through it again. When she thought there was no possible way for her to get stretched any further, he stopped. 'It's okay,' he whispered, 'I'm all the way in now. It's not so bad, is it?'  
  
'No,' she said. It really wasn't. And with him holding her, looking at her with loving eyes, just lying still - that was heaven.  
  
'Kiss me, Brennan,' she whispered.  
  
He did, deeply and wetly, and began to move inside her, never taking his lips off from hers. Strangely, it did not hurt as she thought it would. It was just the initial penetration. But the closeness she felt with him was indescribable. She felt like floating, she could do this forever just to have him beside her. She would never have an orgasm with intercourse - it was too invasive for her to fully surrender herself, and besides, she had read that most women didn't orgasm with intercourse either - but as long as he was enjoying himself, she could get used to it. That was all that mattered, that he liked it.  
  
After a while, he said, 'I'm not going to stretch it on too long, because it can get painful. So I'm going to come inside you, okay?'  
  
'Okay.'  
  
His strokes began to increase in rhythm and strength, and she felt her emotional self being caught up in his frenzy. She could lose herself in him, his fervor became her fervor; his excitement her excitement, and his determination her determination. And flinging out her mind to mesh with his, she connected as he reached his climax, which was a sensation that assaulted her on all fronts - her core, her limbs, her belly, her breasts and the soft buttery void that was her mind. It was...if she were to describe it in one word..rapture. Like the petals of a flower opening and closing, its stamen and pistils bristling wildly. So different from her own orgasms, and yet there was a kinship in so many ways. As she felt his moist wetness trickle into her, she flung out to embrace him with both body and mind, I love you Brennan..I love you, I love you and nothing will ever change that. HiH  
  
He collapsed on top of her, breathing heavily, kissing her neck. 'I love you, Emma,' he whispered, and she realized it was the first time he ever said that to her after an orgasm; and if she hadn't read his mind earlier, she would have still harbored some hope. He made a move to withdraw, but she pulled him back, pressing his body close against hers.  
  
'Stay inside me,' she begged.  
  
'Okay, but don't blame me if I get excited all over again.'  
  
That's the idea, she thought. She let him rest for a while, enjoying his warmth. Then she began to kiss him, passionately, on his lips and all over his face. Kissing always did arouse him. Sure enough, he was hard again. 'You're going to be the death of me,' he groaned.  
  
'Let's try another position,' she suggested, almost blushing in her audacity.  
  
And so they did. When he came again, he withdrew this time. 'No more, Emma. I'm not twenty-two anymore.' She bided her time, and when she thought he had rested enough, she grabbed him again. Despite protesting, he hardened up he was such a pushover, and so easily aroused for someone in his late twenties and took her, nonetheless. This time the penetration did not hurt. Maybe he was right. It took practice. When he had come again for the third time that night, he said, 'Really this time, Emma, no more. Something's going to fall off. You can kill a guy like this, you know.'  
  
She understood why she was doing this. She was trying to cram everything that could have been but was never to be into one night; or like experiencing a virtual reality simulation of a possible future among many possible futures in fast play. But maybe he had had enough. Such a pity this would be the last time. She could do this with him forever, preserving the moment in all eternity. She wished she had the power to bottle time into one recurring loop, repeating the same day over and over again until it must exhaust itself, or its combatants, out.  
  
'At least lie like this with me tonight,' she said. He was still inside her, and though he had gone soft, his presence was still considerable.  
  
'I'll flip over and you can lie on me instead,' he replied. 'That way you'll be more comfortable.'  
  
'Don't let me go.'  
  
He didn't. She nestled against him contentedly, wishing she could be closer; so close until her blood ran into his, and her bones knitted against his bones in a profusion of matrixes, until they were truly one. She knew it was a morbid thought, but that was the way she felt, and she wasn't about to deny herself her own feelings; not tonight. She fell asleep like that, joined to him, dreaming of him all night, a glorious deluge of successive images, one after the other. All with him inside, smiling, laughing, picture perfect pretty.  
  
Know that I'll always be here for you, she told him in her dreams, even if you won't ever need me.  
  
*  
  
They celebrated her twenty-second birthday in a posh restaurant, with Adam buying. The candelabra on her cake and the table were piled up so high she thought it would set off the smoke alarm.  
  
'No singing, guys,' she warned. 'Not in here.' But of course, they didn't give a damn, and sang lustily anyway, with the other patrons in the restaurant looking crossly on (it was that kind of place).  
  
'So Emma,' Adam said, 'has turning one year older made you any wiser? Any reflections you care to share with us?'  
  
With everyone looking at her expectantly, she blushed. She gave it some thought, peering at Brennan out of the corner of her eye. He was seated next to Shalimar, and she knew their knees were touching and sometimes their hands brushed against each other's under the table. It was a bittersweet experience. 'I've learnt a lot this past year,' she said carefully, 'thanks to each and everyone of you. You have all touched me in different and important ways, and I can't thank all of you enough.'  
  
'Spoken like a true teammate,' Shalimar said, raising her glass.  
  
'Hear hear,' the others chorused, toasting her.  
  
'So where do you want to go after this, Emma?' Brennan said.  
  
Indeed. Where did she want to go? After such dizzying heights and abysmal chasms, where can one possibly go?  
  
'I'll figure that one out, and I'll tell you later.' She smiled at him.  
  
He nodded, understanding. Their eyes met. Sometimes, he could be terribly perceptive.  
  
The waitress arrived to take away her cake for portioning. She was brunette and pretty, and her hair was done up neatly behind her head. As she bent down, curly tendrils of loose hair fell across her cheeks, reminding Emma of those artistic renditions of Rubenesque women, only the waitress was as slim as a willow wand. Emma saw Brennan's eyes light up in appreciation.  
  
She was not the only one to notice Brennan. Shalimar saw it too, and although her facial expressions did not alter, there was just the slightest set to her mouth, and a little more hardness in her gaze. Emma pitied Shal. Her friend was going to have to get used to this. He won't love you one iota less, she thought. He's just browsing, and you have to accept the fact he's always going to browse.  
  
The waitress looked down at Brennan's face, and smiled. 'Can I clear this?' She indicated his plate.  
  
'Sure,' Brennan smiled back. 'Let me help you.' He handed her his plate.  
  
Beside him, Shalimar averted her face, a fleeting look of annoyance just crossing her features and disappearing, like it hadn't even been there. She's trying hard, Emma thought.  
  
Dessert went on, and the dishes were scraped clean. Beside her, Jesse poured her more wine. He was terribly attentive tonight, taking care of her every whim. It was like he knew something momentous was about to happen. She had to smile to herself. Perhaps it was.  
  
'Hey,' Shalimar exclaimed suddenly. 'Isn't that the woman we were supposed to track? The one who never showed up in the end after setting up a meeting?'  
  
Everyone looked up to where she was indicating.  
  
'I'll be damned,' Adam said. 'Maybe she does exist, and the pictures we have of her weren't fake ones after all.'  
  
'What woman?' Brennan asked. 'I don't remember tracking any woman.'  
  
Shal clicked in exasperation. 'Oh, don't be so dense. You know, one half of the couple we were supposed to check out at the party. That party?' She looked at him significantly.  
  
'I remember the party,' he said slowly, frowning. 'Or at least, bits of it.' He gave her a look, as if to say, I remember us. 'But I don't recall trying to track anyone.'  
  
All eyes were now riveted to him.  
  
Jesse raised an eyebrow. 'Memory lapse, Brennan? Or Missing Time, like those alien abductions? Anyhow,' he grinned, 'you're showing your age.'  
  
Emma held her breath throughout all this. It was worse than she had thought. She caught Adam looking at her, and her heart stopped in mid-beat. He knows what I did, she thought wildly. Maybe not why, but he still knows what I did.  
  
Aloud, Adam said to Brennan, 'She's supposed to be a thermal elemental.'  
  
Shal rose. 'She's going to the ladies'. I'm going too. I'll scope her out.'  
  
Brennan still wore a perplexed expression on his face. 'I'll go with you,' he said slowly, getting up anyway.  
  
Shal gave him a peculiar look. 'I can handle myself. Besides, I'm going to the ladies'. You can't go to the ladies', can you?' She emphasized the word 'ladies.'  
  
'I'm not saying you can't handle yourself. I'm just saying you might need back-up. And besides, I'll hang around outside. If you need me, you can just yell.'  
  
Emma observed Shal. Her friend's eyes were flashing now, not feral yellow, but with the kind of spark that marked a violation of territorial borders.  
  
'I won't need you,' Shal said in a voice that had no inflections whatsoever. 'But you can tag along outside, if you wish.'  
  
'Fine.'  
  
'Fine.'  
  
They both left. Emma's eyes trailed after them.  
  
Beside her, Jesse patted her hand. 'You okay, Emma?'  
  
She looked at him warmly. He was looking particularly young, with his patient blue eyes and kind smile. Her hand sought his beneath the table, and squeezed. He was such a wonderful person. She deserved this...she deserved him. He didn't know it yet, but his wait was over.  
  
'Yes I am now, thank you.'  
  
F I N I S  
  
Note: Yes it's finally over. It's been a trip, and I have to go back to writing other things. But I'll always read your stuff and leave reviews. wipes tear Hug and kisses. Bye. Love you guys. 


End file.
